


Love vs. Love

by CasMayaSutra



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arranged Marriage, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2018, Endgame Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M, Minor Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester, Prankster Dean Winchester, Road Trip Impala, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-17 05:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16510424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasMayaSutra/pseuds/CasMayaSutra
Summary: Dean Winchester is in love. Dean Winchester is going to be married. And because this is his fucked up life, they are not the same person.Castiel Novak is in love. He has been in love with Dean since what feels like forever. Due to a quirk of fate, they are going to be married.How will Dean reconcile between the man he loves and the man he marries?How will Castiel react when he finds out that his love is not only unrequited but UNWANTED?





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester is in love. Dean Winchester is going to be married. And because this is his fucked up life, they are not the same person.
> 
> Castiel Novak is in love. He has been in love with Dean since what feels like forever. Due to a quirk of fate, they are going to be married.
> 
> How will Dean reconcile between the man he loves and the man he marries?
> 
> How will Castiel react when he finds out that his love is not only unrequited but UNWANTED?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, I can't believe it! I'm finally here, on posting day, with a complete fic that I am reasonably happy with. 
> 
> This story threw up so many roadblocks, and despite having completed the story, I kept feeling something was missing. This fic would be sadly lacking but for the beta-efforts of Gem RavensCAT, Regina (spnkarategirl80), Deancebra, and Sophie Idjitsaviors. Thank you so much for your thorough comments, critiques and opinions!! Any lingering mistakes, inconsistencies are mine and mine alone!
> 
> I was lucky to be paired with my fantastic artist, Hitori Alouette (Ani), who created the most amazing pieces of art for my story. I am thrilled to have my story associated with your talented pieces! Please go leave all the love on Ani's art master post here. Ani, I am so grateful for the time and effort you put in creating these wonderful artworks, not one or two but FIVE plus the dividers!!!! It was a pleasure and an honour to work with you! <3
> 
> Last but not least, a warm squishy hug and a huge thank you to our wonderful mods, Muse and Jojo, for running this challenge like a well-oiled machine. You are tireless in your work despite RL trying its best to intrude, and I am grateful that I get the opportunity of this wonderful challenge!
> 
> Usual disclaimer re having no ownership to the characters created by Erik Kripke and gang.
> 
> Without further ado, I give you Love vs. Love.

 

 

__

 

 

_Happy marriages begin when we marry the one we love, but they blossom when we love the one we marry._

_~ Tom Mullen_

 

 

Dean Winchester is in love. 

Dean Winchester is going to be married. 

And because this is _his_ fucked up life, they are not the same person.

 

Let’s start at the beginning, where all good stories usually start.

 

Once upon a time, in the faraway kingdom of Winchester, there lived a Prince of such… What?! Too cliche?!

 

Oh alright then.

 

This, then, is how it all began…

 

  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do leave some comments, kudos and/or critiques. Like I said, I struggled with this fic and would love to hear from you about what you liked, hated, or thought was lacking.


	2. Mania: Obsessive Love

 

_The magic of first love is our ignorance that it can never end._

_~ Benjamin Disraeli_

 

**June 30, 2018**

 

“I am _not_ sharing my office!” Dean leans over his father’s desk, his hands clenched in restraint.

“Dean, I am not arguing with you about this anymore.” John Winchester orders, looking sternly at his elder son over his glasses. “Mr. Lafitte is going to be working closely with you for the next three months at least. It makes sense, and you know it. Now stop behaving like a child and start taking your responsibility seriously. I cannot believe that someday you’ll be sitting in this chair!”

Which is his dad’s passive aggressive way of calling forth the trained soldier in Dean.

Ever since he was a young boy, Dean and his brother Sam have been groomed to one day take over the reins of Winchester Associates, the top business troubleshooters in the field. First started in Lawrence, Kansas by his grandfather, the company outgrew its small roots under the management of his father, who moved the headquarters to Kansas City. These days, their firm has a reputation for being the best in the business. They specialize in identifying and eliminating the sundry problems that corporations continuously face, whether it be stagnation due to poor cash-flow, slow sales or too much stock, or actively defending against hostile takeovers attempts.

“But…”

“That’s enough!” John points a commanding finger. “I expect your office to be ready for Mr. Lafitte when he arrives tomorrow.” He turns back to his computer in dismissal and Dean snaps to attention, years of built-in instinct kicking in.

“Yes, Sir.”

Seething, he forces himself to walk out of his dad’s office without slamming the door in protest, because wouldn’t _that_ just prove what an angst-ridden teen he is being about this whole mess. Striding past the open-space office, Dean storms his way into his cabin where he _does_ slam the door. It is extremely satisfying.

What is not satisfying, however, is the door opening again almost immediately.

 _Why can’t the world leave him the hell alone?_ Dean resists the urge to outright yell _Fuck off!_ at the intruder. It’s probably his personal assistant anyway, and he’s seen Dean in worse moods than this.  “Not now, Max.” Dean growls, not bothering to turn around.

“Not Max, cuz.”

And Dean _really_ doesn’t need this right now. “Christian,” he says through clenched teeth, “get out of my office.”

“Looks like it won’t be your office for much longer, Dean.” His cousin saunters in and plonks himself down into the visitor chair across from Dean’s desk. “Sucks, don’t it? But then, seeing as you were given the biggest office whether you deserve it or not, I can’t say I’m heartbroken about it.”

“That is _not…_ ” Dean stops himself, pinches the skin at the bridge of his nose as he takes a deep breath. There’s no point in arguing the same damn thing with Christian. Despite his petty jealousy, even he knows, that John Winchester has never, and will never, indulge in nepotism, not even for his son and heir. Dean scoffs, _especially not_ for his son and heir. If anything, John is a harder taskmaster to Dean than anyone he knows of, miserly with his praise, and extremely generous with his disapproval.

He doesn't bother to sit down at his desk as he clenches his hands, nails digging into his palms as he glares at his cousin. “Tell me why you’re here or get the fuck out.”

“Look, princess, John said I was your second on this case, so I’m here to go over the files Pergatia sent yesterday.”

Why his dad insists on making Dean work with the one person he finds intolerable is beyond him. John probably thinks this is some character-building bullshit. Maybe to prepare him for when he takes over the reins of Winchester Associates. As if topping his class at Harvard wasn’t enough!

“Yeah, so make an appointment. Max will sort out a time slot.”

Christian smirks, oily and snake-like. “I did. This is it.”

Dean scowls, before sighing and pressing the call button on his intercom. “Max, get Sam on the line. If we’re doing this, I want his ass in here, too!”

“Right away, Mr. Winchester.”

“Oh, and Max, the next time you make an appointment, I’d like to know about it _before_ they’re sitting in my office, yeah?” He hangs up without waiting for a response. He knows he’s being rude; Max, despite his young age, is pretty efficient, and likely put this appointment on his personal calendar, which Dean rarely bothers to check. He’ll probably end up apologizing to Max, maybe gift him that spa get-away with his boyfriend the kid’s been eyeing.

He sits down heavily, the well-oiled wheels rolling the chair backwards with the force. He pulls himself back towards his desk and leans his forearms across the polished surface, “Okay, what’ve we got.”

"Pergatia Holdings. Based out of Los Angeles. CEO is Mr. Fergus Crowley." Christian lazily flicks through the papers he’s holding. "As you know, they’re a major player in real estate across America. Crowley’s grandfather started as a small-time real estate broker at the turn of the century and built his business up from scratch, yadda yadda success story. His company survived mainly on the strength of his ability to negotiate any deal to his advantage, a gift which his grandson evidently inherited. Crowley has a seemingly huge network of government hacks who make it easier for him to get approvals, something which stumps other developers because it locks up their money waiting for permits."

“So basically he’s a shady son of a bitch who greases more than a few palms to get his way?”

Christian rolls his eyes as he passes the folder to Dean. “Nooo.  Although... that’s what _you’d_ think, isn’t it? If they’re successful they must be shady? Kinda like you think of me, really,” he sneers, leaning back lazily into the chair.

“Stow the attitude, Christian. I don’t like you because of that chip the size of Texas on your shoulder,” Dean grumbles as he flips through the first few pages. “‘S got nothing to do with your work.”

Christian raises a cynical eyebrow. “Awww, and here I’ve been thinking we’re family. Anyway, word on the street is that Crowley is a stickler for rules. If he makes a deal, he honors it. His contracts are squeaky clean, down to the small print.”

Both of them look up as they hear the door open, and Dean breathes a silent sigh of relief as Sam walks in, glad that he has a buffer between himself and his piece-of-shit cousin.

“Heya Sammy.’ Dean greets, “Come on in, our esteemed cousin’s just bringing us up to speed on the Pergatia Holdings situation.”

“Hi Christian,” Sam greets, because he’s polite like that, the asshole. No wonder John’s proud of _him_.

“Sam.” Christian nods, his attitude has done a complete 360 from what it was with Dean. it’s almost like he _likes_ Sam or something.

“So get this…” Sam chimes in, because of course he probably read the files cover to cover when they came in yesterday, unlike Dean, who had other things on his mind. Like how to get out of sharing his most sacred space with a complete stranger. “Apparently, Zachariah Heller made two takeover attempts, and was shot down both times by Crowley giving him the proverbial finger.”

“Yup, that’s right.” Christian grins at Sam, “At least someone has done his homework.”

As Dean tries to ignore the subtle jibe by imagining a scenario or ten about how he can get his cousin off this case (or even off this earth, really. It would be a favour to humanity), Christian continues, “The first time, Heller failed to reach an agreement with Pergatia’s management on a possible acquisition. When those negotiations started breaking down, he attempted a hostile takeover by offering to buy the company directly from shareholders for $26 billion. The offer failed because not enough shareholders agreed to sell their stock and it actually cost Heller millions while coming up empty.”

“So Crowley had some loyal shareholders. We need to find out if he has established a good preemptive takeover defense plan.” Dean makes a note on the yellow legal pad in front of him. To protect against hostile takeovers, most companies establish stocks with differential voting rights, so that a stock with less voting rights pays a higher dividend. This makes shares with a lower voting power an attractive investment but makes it more difficult to generate the votes needed for a hostile takeover. “If Heller has tried buying out the shareholders once, he might try it again, and if he gets the right voting shares, this time he'll be successful.”

“I’ll check that.” Sam agrees, “In any case, Heller was stupid enough to attempt a second hostile takeover in a proxy fight, but again, Crowley sweetened the pot with higher dividends, and the proxy voters crumbled at the AGM, choosing to remain with Crowley. Apparently, Crowley _did_ give Heller the finger then, if witnesses are to be believed.”

Dean sniggers. “I’m liking this guy already.”

Sam shakes his head. “You would. He’s a fighter for sure.”

“Okay, so where do we come in?”

“Heller’s been making noises again. Crowley wants us to look at his books, and identify the weak points, then get rid of them. He’s sending his in-house legal ace, Mr. Lafitte, to work on it with us.”

“Okay,” Dean taps his fingers on the desk, thinking. “Christian, you’re good at digging dirt. Find out everything you can about what Heller’s up to. See if we can sniff out his angle. Sammy, you’re the legal brain. Come up with some reactive defense options in case Heller makes a move while we’re still working on tightening the hatch.”

“What about you?” Christian sneers.

“Me? I’ve got half an office to clean out for Mr. Benjamin Lafitte.” Dean gives a fake, overly sweet smile.

As his brother and cousin leave his office, Sam turns back to Dean. “Hey, you okay?”

Dean can hear the concern in Sam’s voice so he scrambles to cut the chick-flick moment off at the pass, “Oh yeah Sammy, fucking fantastic!”

Sam sighs, gently closing the door behind Christian and turning around. “Dean, you aren’t seriously still pouting about the office?”

“Pfft, No! Okay, yes,” Dean grumbles. “I don’t like anyone coming in and messing with my stuff. I have everything organized the way I like it, and now someone’s gonna be here, just spreading their mess around.”

“You don’t know that, Dean.”

“Yeah right! Remember when you and I shared an office? Sammy, if I can’t make it work with you, I ain’t got no hope of doing it with a complete stranger without murdering them on day two!”

Sam looks at the ceiling nostalgically. “Yeah, it was fun seeing you go red in the face everytime I left a file out of place.”

“Yeah, Samantha, fun for _you_. Although I did get back at you every time. Remember the Nair in your shampoo?”

“That wasn’t revenge, Dean, that was pure evil! I hope you aren’t planning anything like that with Mr. Lafitte.”

“Why Sammy, that is an excellent idea! I’ll make sure to give you credit in my memoirs,” Dean says slyly, his mind already spinning with possibilities.

“Dean! NO!” Sam’s voice goes high. “Do NOT start a prank war with the _very important client_!”

Dean just waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

His little impromptu chat with his brother has given Dean an excellent idea. Let Mr. Lafitte come. If he isn’t begging John to change working spaces within a week, Dean will change his name and move to Mexico.

 

  

 

Dean lets Lafitte know right off the bat that his presence is not welcome. As soon as the introductions are done, Dean has to bring him to “their” office, but he makes sure he lays down the rules. He may have no choice in this, but like hell is he gonna let the guy get comfortable in Dean’s sacred space.

“Alright, Lafitte. Here are the rules. Mi casa is NOT su casa, got it? You do not change the filing system, do not touch anything on my desk, ever. And _never_ eat Mexican and come into my office, capisce?”

“Why no Mexican?” the visiting lawyer asks, confused.

Dean waves it away. “I used to share with my brother. Burritos!” He shudders at the memory of his brother’s propensity to thoroughly pollute the atmosphere of their enclosed office space. “Long story. Rule still stands though.”

Dean chooses to ignore the other man’s raised eyebrow, turning back to his work.  The man seems unruffled by his less than warm welcome, but Dean has an excellent repertoire up his sleeve. It wouldn’t hurt to polish up his prankster skills though. Something that will shake up the cool, collected lawyer.

The first week, Dean tests the waters with small, easily-written-off pranks.

A loosened chair wheel here, a greased coffee mug handle there. Perfectly logical explanations for little things going wrong, but aimed at making Lafitte’s life… difficult. Frustratingly, Laffite proves to be a tough nut to crack. He just shrugs at whatever’s gone wrong and carries on as if nothing happened.

The first hint of a ruffled feather comes when his office-mate comes back from lunch and plonks into his chair, which promptly sinks to its lowest setting, and Lafitte shrieks like a little girl. His cheeks, hidden by his well-trimmed beard, have a distinctly pink tinge of embarrassment as he scowls at Dean over the edge of his suddenly high desk.

“Man, you gotta get maintenance in to look at your chair.” _Smooth, Winchester._ Dean should win a damn Oscar for how innocent he manages to look while internally raising a triumphant fist. _Yes!! Thank you, YouTube!_

Having met with some success, Dean waits a few days before he tries again. He is, however, delighted that the elegant Mr. Lafitte now surreptitiously checks his chair every time before he sits down

“Mr. Winchester…” Lafitte calls to him one day.

“Dean. I’m Dean.” he says with a sugary sweet smile aimed at making the man let down his defenses.

“Dean, I need the folder for last year’s financials.”

“Yeah, sure… that file cabinet on the left.” Dean points, looking down at the file in his hands. This does not mean he isn’t very _very_ aware of what’s going to happen next.

It takes all his willpower to keep from sniggering as Lafitte goes to open the file drawer, only to have the entire cabinet roll forward on extremely well-oiled wheels.

“Shit!” Laffite swears as he jumps a few feet to avoid the cabinet rolling over his toes.

“Oh sorry, Max must have locked the drawers last night.” Dean hands over the key from his desk drawer, perfectly innocently.

“You know what, Winchester? I was told I had to come work with you because you’re the best in the business, but I guess they meant someone else, because you, Cher, are a _child_ . And I’m here to do a _job_ , not play juvenile games with you.” He snatches the key from Dean and gets the file he needs, then slams the drawer back in place.

“Hey!” Dean protests, but Lafitte just walks out of the office, not glancing back at Dean even once.

 

**July 5, 2018**

 

“Okay, so, status report, everyone. Christian, what do we got on Heller?”

“From what I’ve dug out, Heller has met with at least three members of the board, all of whom hold two percent voting rights. That’s a total of six if they all fall in with him. Counting the shares he got from his last takeover attempt, and if he can convert some more board members, he will have enough voting power to make a takeover bid.”

“Okay, that is not good. Find out which board members are vulnerable. We know Heller is not above playing dirty, and I think this time it’s personal.”

“Really, Dean? _Jaws 3_?” Sam sighs.

“He’s a shark, Sammy, and this is the third time he’s circling.” Dean shrugs. He is startled by a quiet snigger from across the table and is surprised to find it comes from their guest. He stares into amused blue eyes until Sam clears his throat.

“Mr. Lafitte…” Sam begins.

“Please, call me Benny. I figure if we’re gonna be in this together, it’s gonna get damn awkward if we keep bein’ so formal.” He smiles softly.

“Benny, you know the board. Can you tell us which members we need to focus on first?”

“The thing you gotta know, brother, is Mr. Crowley is smart, not just Ivy League smart, but street smart. And he has one thing that a lot of real estate magnates don’t —integrity. He has one rule: make a deal, keep it. His board members know it, too. And they know what happens if they break it.”

“I don’t know, man, you make him sound like a mobster or something.” Dean leans back in his chair, his fingers fiddling with his pen to avoid looking at Benny. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling flustered but there’s something about the man’s eyes...

Benny shakes his head. “There was this up-and-comer, Guy somethin’. He thought he’d please the boss, starts exploiting a loophole in his deals. He was bribing officials, getting paperwork pushed through faster, cuttin’ corners. Crowley found out about it, you know what he did? Called the feds on Guy _and_ the officials, handed them up on a silver platter. Said it’s about consumer confidence, no one’s gonna deal with the company if people think someday their land might get snatched from them because Pergatia made a shady deal.”

Dean slaps a hand on the folder in front of him. “Okay, so at least that’s a plus. Heller won’t have anything to hold over the company or the board members officially. That means we need to find out if there’s anything in their personal lives. And I mean _anything_ — finances, private lives, mistresses.”

Christian nods. “Okay, I’m on it.”

“Good. Sammy, looks like we might need your Plan B sooner than we thought. You got anything yet?”

“I’m working on a few options, I’ll let you know once I have the numbers worked out.”

“Okay, Benny and I will work on the financials some more. I want to look at their Employee Stock Options to see if that’ll be a viable defense move, especially since Crowley seems to have employee loyalty,” Dean declares, then realizes Benny is staring at him curiously.

Dean smirks. “What?! Too fucking ‘ _juvenile_ ’ for you?”

 

It doesn’t help that the very next day, Dean spends the entire night in the office, painstakingly gluing shut all of the folders on Lafitte’s desk, only to miss the moment when the other man discovers them. He has to rely on Max’s secondhand report, which is entirely unsatisfactory. Max is obliging enough to recount the expression on the man’s face though, and his subsequent bellow of  “GODDAMMIT WINCHESTER!!!! This is war!”

Well, well, well. It would seem that Dean has finally, _finally_ , dented the cool facade.

When Lafitte fights, he fights dirty. Dean discovers this a few days later when he comes in after a full morning of meetings. All he wants is a large mug of hot bitter brew and blissful silence. So it is extremely convenient that the office is empty of one distracting Louisiana-born life form, with his sexy southern drawl and broad shoulders. _And what the hell, Winchester?! When did we start thinking of Lafitte as_ sexy _?!!_

It is even more convenient that Max has thoughtfully placed a Starbucks Grande Americano on his desk.

Dean stretches his legs under his desk, reaches for his coffee, takes a huge gulp…. and spews it all over his keyboard. _What. The. Fuck._

“MAX!!! GET IN HERE!!!” He roars.

Max sidles into his office, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Really, Max?” Dean accuses. “There was more sugar in that than there was coffee, man.”

“Mr. Lafitte brought it in for you. He said to give you this.” He hands over a card.

Dean opens it and reads, “Your mouth needed some sweetening, Winchester. Hope this helps.”

“Et tu, Brutus?” Dean mimes pulling a knife out of his back and dropping it on the desk. “I trusted you, man!”

“I’m sorry, Boss! I didn’t know!” Max looks so miserable that Dean takes pity on him. In any case, he knew what he was getting into when he spent two hours gluing Lafitte’s files. If anything, he almost respects the sly lawyer for fighting like a man rather than complaining to his dad.

Not nearly enough to stop him from planning his counterattack, though.

 

**July 15, 2018**

 

“Thanks, Dean! Man, I’m starving!” Sam pounces on the food spread out on the conference room table.

“Aw, Sammy, I figured I’d get the grub. It’s gonna be a heavy brainstorming session today and we need the brain fuel.”

“Yeah, but you don’t even like Indian,” Christian pipes in.

“Sure I do, I love this,” he lifts a lid, “yellow stuff,”   _lift_ , “and this, uh, v..vin-da..thingy.”

“Vindaloo,” Benny says as he walks into the conference room. “It’s called vindaloo, Dean.”

“I knew that!” Dean exclaims, annoyed.

“Sure you did,” says his traitor of a brother, piling his plate with all kinds of colorful stuff. “It sounds just like ‘burger.’”

“Just eat, Gigantor,” Dean says, making sure to slyly nudge the plate of vindaloo away from his brother and towards its intended recipient.

Benny takes the bait, hook, line, and sinker, and serves himself the special, extra spicy vindaloo which Dean doctored with even more chili powder after it was delivered. “I like vindaloo,” he says. Dean knows; he is not an amateur at this pranking gig.

“Man, more power to you. I’m not brave enough for the spice. Give me a nice mild korma any day,” Sam declares, stuffing his face full of naan bread dipped in the yellow curry.

Dean knows this too. Hence the choice of dish to spike. Dean waits for the sweet sound of one arch nemesis exploding in fumes, but it never comes.

Benny coughs once after the first bite but then carries on eating with gusto.

Dean ogles at Benny in utter disbelief. He is extremely certain that the man should be melting and/or fuming, if not foaming at the mouth from the amount of spice he is sure he put in.

He narrows his eyes in a glare, determined to find out what went wrong, and despite his better judgment takes a spoonful of curry from the plate. _“Wha…!!”_

 _Fireball_ ! A literal fucking fireball explodes in his mouth, and he is certain there is ugly snot streaming from his nose. He can barely see past the tears in his eyes, and he is fucking burning in _hellfire_!

“Shit, DEAN! What’s wrong?!” His moose of a brother is panicking, and that’s not fair. Dean wants to reassure him as he feels hands patting his back and someone shoving a glass of chilled water into his hands but nothing is registering except for a ringing in his ears while he _hacks his lungs out_ trying to dislodge the flames in his mouth and throat. He dimly thinks he hears the click of a camera phone but nothing much is registering except gulping down the ice water Sam is plying him with by the bottle.

“Ha...H...Hot!!” Dean tries to say and it sounds more like gasps than words, but who the fuck cares anymore. Just get him out of there and into an ice bath, ice chamber, ice palace, fuck it!

“You idiot! Can you walk? C’mon, let’s get you out of here!” Sam half pulls, half drags him out of there and into his own office and plonks him down on his couch. Dean has a minute to fume about the fact that his own office no longer has a couch because it had to be removed. To make room for the person responsible for this agony.

By the time Sam has loosened his tie and opened the top few buttons of his shirt, and Dean has recovered his wits enough to say, “Buy me a drink first, Sammy!” Because big brother rights.

“Shut up! I did, about fifty bottles worth. What the hell were you thinking? You know you can’t stand vindaloo!”

“Fuck vindaloo!” He says, all righteous indignation at the dish cooked in Satan's kitchen. And really, how the fuck had Lafitte continued eating the bloody thing? Were his taste buds _dead_?

He’s rolling in agony (not really, but he missed his calling as an actor, and he has rights, okay?) when a glass of milk is thrust in front of his face. “Here,” says Benny, his face wrinkled with concern, “milk is more effective in neutralizing the chili.”

At this point, Dean is willing to try any-fucking-thing to put out the inferno in his mouth, so he glares but takes the glass of milk and gulps it down. _Ugh!_

But also, _Ahhh!_ because the fucking thing actually works, and the flames ravaging his mouth dim to a simmer. The ringing in his ears stops. And in sheer relief what he means to say is _Thanks_ but apparently, his brain-to-mouth filter was incinerated in the vindaloo-flames and what actually comes out is, “What the fuck, man?! How the hell were you _eating_ that shit?”

Benny shrugs. “I like spicy food.”

“Yeah, but I made sure that was…” He clamps a hand on his mouth to stop his foot from taking up full-time residence there, but the damage, it seems, is done, because Sam goes still next to him.

“Dean,” he says, very quietly (and that is never a good sign), “what did you do to the food?”

Dean mutters, not quite looking at either of them.

“Dean!” Sam barks and the tone indicates bitchface number four hundred and fifty-seven.

“I...may...have...uh...spiked…” Dean trails off. He feels increasingly foolish. What had seemed like a brilliant idea for a prank now feels spiteful and petty. He’s going to get it from his brother anyway, but to have to admit it in front of the intended prankee, so to speak, is downright humiliating. He feels the flush creep right down his neck, he may love his pie, but _humble_ is not a flavor he enjoys.

Dean grimaces as he looks up at Benny, apologetic. “Look, man… I…”

But he doesn’t get to finish his apology, because Benny looks at him like he’s something you find on your shoe after a walk in a dog park without responsible pick-up-after-it owners. Dean slumps down, dejected. This is the first time he’s seen the blue of Benny’s eyes turn to ice, and he is suddenly extremely uncomfortable with the feeling of shame it brings out.

Dean dreads walking into his office the next day. On the one hand, he can’t get over the humiliation of yesterday, but at the same time, he hopes he’ll get a chance to apologize to Benny. His muddled thoughts come to a complete halt at the door of his office as he stops cold, his jaw dropping to the floor.

Plastered all over the walls, and even the glass windows (covering up his wonderful view of the skyline, but who friggin’ cares), are pictures. To be precise; blown up, full color, poster-size prints of _his own face_. In its moment of agony and hellfire. Ugly snot and all.  

Apology forgotten, he snaps around to yell for Max and sees Benny lounging in his PA’s chair instead, his crossed feet propped lazily on the desk. He raises his cup of take-away coffee in a sarcastic salute. “Like the view?”

“What the _fuck_ , man?!” Dean hisses.

They stare at each other, Benny calm and collected, Dean angry enough to take on an oncoming rhino.

Then Benny speaks up, ominously soft. “Dean, we should talk inside, don’t you think?”

Dean clenches his jaw, but marches into his office, _their_ office, and holds the door open for the larger man to enter.

He barely manages to close the door as Benny looms over him, causing Dean to press back against the door, and he really shouldn’t find that _hot!_ The man’s pale blue eyes flash fire when he leans right into Dean’s face, “What were you thinking, Dean? Someone could have been seriously hurt. You,” he punches a finger into Dean’s chest, “ _you_ could have been seriously hurt. I’ve tolerated your childishness for long enough and you know what? I’m done.” He straightens up, still very much in Dean’s personal space, “Consider this,” He waves a hand around the office, “a parting gift.”

“Hey!” Dean shoves him away, apology forgotten. “I am _not_ a child! I’m the one saving your lame-ass company from a takeover.”

Benny narrows his eyes. “Yeah? I don’t see how, since you’re too busy thinking of the next prank to pull rather than working!”

“For your information…” Dean grinds out, jaw tight, but Benny holds out a hand to stop him.

“Look, Dean,” Benny sighs, “we can carry on fighting, or we can put away these silly pranks and concentrate on what we need to do. I just want to do my job.”

“Yeah well, that’s what I’d like as well. In my office. In peace.”

“Look you chose to share your office instead of… _Oh_ .” Benny’s eyes widen in understanding. “You _didn’t_ have a choice, did you? This…” he waves a hand between the two of them, “you were told to do it. Your dad?”

Dean deflates, nodding, “Yeah. Look, man, it’s not… It’s not personal, okay? I just… I’m not good at sharing.”

“No, I get it. This is your way of rebelling. But Dean, look, you are a brilliant man. You are literally talked about in hushed whispers in boardrooms. The troubleshooter, the… the ‘savior.’ You think outside the box and come up with the best ideas. And you hide all that behind this persona of the prankster.”

“Savior?!” Dean scoffs, crossing his arms against his chest. “I’d need more fingers on my hands to count how many times you’ve called me some synonym of ‘child.’”

Benny runs his hand through his hair. “Can you blame me? That’s all I see of you! Constantly!”

Dean nods sheepishly, biting his lip. “Okay, I’ll give you that.”

Benny smiles, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “So, truce?” He offers his hand.

As he looks into the older man’s eyes, Dean notices for the first time the kindness, the warmth that shines in their pale blue depths. Dean grasps his hand and shakes it. “Truce.”

 

**July 25, 2018**

 

Once Dean lets down his defenses, it opens his eyes to what an incredible person Benny is. Not only is he a lot of fun to work with, he also has a subtle sense of humor that lights up his whole face, amusement bringing a twinkle to his kind eyes. It makes him look handsome, softening his rugged appearance to an endearing teddy-bear cuddliness. More than the obvious physical attraction, however, Dean finds himself drawn to his gentle kindness. When he looks at Dean, it feels like he is looking at _Dean_ , not Dean Winchester, heir to the Winchester empire.

The past two weeks have gone by in an incredible whirl. Late nights working together turned into drinks and then dates, and Dean was swept along without even realizing it. Now, barely ten days after their truce, Dean still cannot believe it. In the past, he has been content with a string of one-night stands, most of them in his Harvard days, before he returned home to live under his father’s scrutiny. In all honesty, he was rarely interested in anything more; more intent on sowing his wild oats as widely as he could while he had the chance. But the man he had been looking to get rid off has become something more. Definitely a friend, a confidant… hell, he might as well admit it: perhaps someday, his boyfriend.

“Hey, Ben?” Dean says as they’re cuddled up on the couch in Dean’s apartment one evening.

“Yes, Cher?” Benny smiles, as he runs his fingers through Dean’s hair.

Dean looks up at Benny from where he’s draped on the larger man’s chest, “I gotta ask. How _did_ you eat the vindaloo?”

“I’m Cajun, you jackass. We _own_ the spice.” Benny chuckles, “You should see my pantry.”

“Huh. Remind me to never let you cook, like ever!” Dean shudders. Give him a juicy burger anyday, at least you don’t feel it making its exit the next day.

“Hey!” Benny objects, “you haven’t tried my gumbo yet. You’ll be singin’ a different tune when you taste that.”

“Maybe.” Dean leans in for a quick peck on his lips, “If I stock up on fire extinguishers before you cook it.”

“Hmmm…” Benny runs his huge palm across Dean’s jaw, “or maybe, I’ll just kiss it better.”

“I don’t know if that’ll work, Lafitte” Dean pretends to think.

“Allow me to demonstrate, Winchester!” Benny laughs, as he captures Dean’s lips in his own.

The demonstration is, needless to say, very...thorough.

 

 

 

It’s been a few weeks since they started working on the case when Dean walks into his dad’s office to give an update on the Pergatia situation.

“Morning, Dad.”

John looks at him over the top of his reading glasses, pointing at the chair opposite his desk. “Dean. Have a seat. So bring me up to speed. What do we have?”

Not even a _How are you_ , Dean notes bitterly. _Straight to business, then._

“It’s good. We’re keeping a close watch on Heller; if he so much as sneezes towards Pergatia, we’ll know about it. Christian’s dug up some sensitive information on three of the board members that Heller might be able to use to his advantage, so we’re working to neutralize it. Sam’s working on counter moves should Heller initiate a takeover before we’re ready for him.”

“Good, that’s good thinking. What about their financials? Have you identified where they are weak yet?”

“Yes, sir. Benny… Mr. Lafitte and I have been working on setting up some preemptive defenses. Their ESO Scheme will be rolled out this week. Any employee who possesses at least one hundred shares will get one vote. With how loyal their employees are, this will ensure majority voting rights remain in favor of Mr. Crowley in the event of a hostile takeover.”

“Good plan. And how are things with Mr. Lafitte?”

Dean knows there’s no way his father could know just how close Benny and he have gotten since their initial animosity.

Of course, he shares none of this with his father, god forbid. “It’s cool. We’re cool,” Dean says.

“Alright, keep me updated. Go on.” John nods his head towards the door.

Just as Dean is leaving, John calls, “And, Dean?”

Dean turns around. “Yeah, Dad?”

“You did good,” John says with a small smile.

Dean double takes, _Did he just?!_ His father’s validation is hard to get and rarely given, so this? This, he beams as he adjusts his collar, he will treasure.  

  


**August 25, 2018**

 

“So get this…” Sam begins, as usual. After all these years, Dean still can’t decide whether to find it annoying or endearing.

Sam called a meeting with Benny, Christian, and Dean to discuss the reactive defense strategies he has come up with, and it looks more likely by the day that it may be needed. It doesn’t help that Heller already holds a twenty percent stake in Pergatia from the shares he bought up during his first takeover attempt. Zachariah Heller has been getting aggressively hostile, and despite their best efforts, at least four board members seem to be under his thumb, getting him closer to the required fifty-one percent.

Frankly, Dean thinks as he looks around at the tired faces of the three men before him, they’re all itching for something to happen. Two months of debating the _what if_ ’s and _when_ ’s has them all chomping at the bit to get going. He turns his attention back to Sam, who says, “I’ve been trying to work out a shareholder rights plan as one of our moves, should Heller initiate a bidding war by buying bulk stock and driving the share prices down,”

Dean nods, impressed. Invoking the shareholder rights plan during a hostile takeover is a risky move. It isn’t called the “poison pill” lightly. The plan can be triggered if any one shareholder buys 20% of the company's shares, at which point the company can allow all other shareholders the right to buy a new issue of shares at a discount. In this instance, it would be perfectly legitimate to implement.

“But wouldn’t that depend on the shareholders’ ability to purchase large amounts of stock themselves? I don’t think any large investors would be interested since Mr. Crowley likes to play his cards close to his chest. The only other person I know who holds high voting rights, apart from Crowley himself, is his mother, Rowena,” Benny argues.

Sam practically vibrates with excitement. “That’s just it, though. It was hidden away deep in the documents, but I found one more person who holds nearly five percent voting rights!”

“What?! I’m sure my team would have found something, but I gotta tell you, we came up with zilch.” Christian flips through the papers in front of him.

Sam slaps his hand on the table in front of him. “Exactly. But if even we had a tough time finding it, I can guarantee that Heller doesn’t know this. With Crowley’s thirty percent, and Rowena’s ten percent, if we can get this party to buy more stock as part of the shareholder rights plan and they vote in favor the current administration, Heller won’t stand a chance…”

“Because we’ll have nearly fifty percent in the bag,” Dean finishes for him. “That’s brilliant, Sammy!”

“But wait!” Benny objects, “How do we know they won’t hijack the takeover themselves to make a bid if they already have a good percentage?”

“That’s just it, this person doesn’t need the company. In fact, they have given permanent proxy voting to Rowena and never interfered or even taken an interest in the company. They prefer to be a silent stakeholder.”

“As if anyone would give up such a lucrative piece of the pie, Sam.” Christian scoffs.

“Unless…” Sam raises his eyebrow questioningly, a broad grin splitting his face.

“Unless they had a bigger piece of pie already!” Dean guesses, sitting straight up in his chair as the implications kick in.

“Yep!” Sam clicks his fingers at Dean. “And not just a piece, but nearly the whole pie itself. A _much_ bigger pie!”

“Well? Who is it, Sammy? We need to start talking to them immediately.”

“Castiel Novak.” Sam slides a folder across the center of the table with all the flourish of a conjurer taking a bow.

“Novak? As in heir to the Angeles empire? That Novak?” Dean raises an incredulous eyebrow as he slaps a hand on the sliding folder. He flips it around, and leafs through it, going through the very thorough investigation notes.

“The one and only.” Sam ruffles his hair then tucks it back behind his ear, “Apparently, Rowena’s father and Castiel’s grandfather were childhood friends and very close. When Mr. Macleod, that’s Crowley’s grandfather, first started his real estate business, Novak pawned his meager stash of the family silver to help his friend out. Mcleod never forgot his friend’s kindness, and when he went public, he gave a five percent stake of the shares to Mr. Novak. Of course, Mr. Novak never really needed it much, since his own import-export business took off at roughly the same time. I doubt he even knew about it, to be honest. There isn’t much detail about them after they both became successful.”

“But that would mean the shares would have gone to Charles Novak, not his son,” Dean pauses in his reading to look up.

“No. Charles got the company and the family holdings, but in his will, Novak Sr. bequeathed his personal wealth to his grandson, and since the stock was in the name of Mr. Novak himself and not Angeles Corporation, Castiel is now the owner in his own right.” Sam looks smugly at his brother.

“That’s solid gold information, Sammy. Great job.” Dean slaps his hand on the folder.

“Uh…there is one slight problem, though.” Sam winces. “Zachariah Heller is Castiel’s cousin on his mother’s side. It may be a risk to let him know the power he has because if he chooses to side with his cousin, we’d be handing over Pergatia on a silver platter.”

Dean rubs a hand across his forehead, “You’re right. Let’s find out about Novak before meeting him. It’ll help us suss out which way he leans before we bring the proposal to him.”

“Actually, I already started on that.” Sam nods, “Charlie is running a background check on him as we speak. What we do know is he went to Harvard for his MBA, same as you, Dean.” Sam looks across at him, “In fact, the same years as you. Did you know him then?”

“Nah, man.” Dean squints, trying to recall his classmates. On his best day, most of them are a hazy memory anyway. He shakes his head. “Someone as big as Novak? I’m sure I’d have noticed a celebrity in my class.”

“Oh well, it was a long shot,” Sam sighs, “it would have been a big plus if we had an established relationship to build from, you know?”

“Hey! Maybe he’s heard about me. After all, I’m awesome,” Dean says cockily.

“Actually Dean,” Sam says slyly, “I only hope he wasn’t one of your many… uhm…  acquaintances, back then. I don’t think we have the time to wade through that mess right now!”

“Seriously? Quit with the Dean-bashing! And anyway, all of my “acquaintances”, as you put it, always had only the nicest things to say about the Winchester Experience.”

“I don’t know Dean,” Benny swivels his chair towards him, waggling his eyebrows, “I might actually be interested in meeting this guy. Find out what the great Dean Winchester was like in his acquaintancing days…”

“You…you shut your mouth, Lafitte!” Dean points a finger at Benny.

“Make me, Winchester!” Benny winks.

“And… I’m out. You guys have fun!” Sam squeaks, as he makes his escape.

 

**September 18, 2018**

 

As Dean enters the ballroom, Sam behind him, he surveys the gathering below; from the top of the staircase, he can see the whole ballroom at the Winchester House and all of the guests that have come to Pawnee Circuit, Leabrook for this. Their father John has thrown a party for some of their biggest clients including Fergus Crowley and selected board members from Pergatia, and the top representatives along with Charles Novak from Angeles.

Once Charlie completed her background check on Castiel Novak, they were impressed to find that Novak was a humanitarian and philanthropist on par with none other than Bill Gates. His charity efforts spanned the globe, and under his management, Angeles had built somewhat of a stellar reputation. When deciding to meet with him, Sam had put his foot down. Dean would not be going for the meeting. It didn’t matter if, as Sam suspected, Dean had screwed Castiel and forgotten about him (Shut up, it has happened before, sometimes. Whatever), or worse, not even noticed him. Either way, Sam said, it was a Bad Move, capitals intended, especially when the future of Pergatia rested in Castiel’s hands. So, Sam and Benny had gone for the meeting and come back with a very positive outcome: _Of course, Castiel would help. He didn’t particularly like his cousin Zachariah anyway._

What had been more surprising than this pleasing turn of events, however, was the fact that Castiel had been so impressed by Sam that Angeles had approached John Winchester about an exclusive representation contract, with Sam Winchester as the lead counsel and point man.

Dean makes his way over to Benny, who is also invited as Pergatia’s chief legal counsel. He can’t help the warm grin that pulls at his lips. As he draws the man in a one-armed hug in greeting, he brushes his lips discreetly against the older man’s ear as he whispers, “Tonight.” As he draws back, he claps a hand on the lawyer’s shoulder, and winks conspiratorially at the whispered, “Finally, Cher.”

Dean has years of practice in keeping his emotions concealed, and thank gods for that, he thinks to himself. The dashing lawyer’s voice is like silken honey, his words spoken in a soft drawl, the foreign accent lilting his words. It is all Dean can do to keep the fluttering excitement in his heart from spilling over.

Because tonight, after the party, he is going to talk to John, and Dean is going to tell him about Benny and their tentative plan for Benny to come work at Winchester if John agrees.

Over the course of the three months that the legal wrangling has taken, Dean has found himself falling more and more, his infatuation growing deeper and stronger. Surely, he thinks, this must be love.

He feels Sam insistently pull on his elbow, and reluctantly allows his brother to pull him away.

“C’mon, Dean,” Sam whispers urgently, “It’s time for your performance. You know Dad wants you to impress the Novaks tonight.”

“I know, Sam. I’m coming!”

Dean knows how important the Novaks are. Based in Houston, Texas, their company, Angeles Corporation, owns a huge conglomerate, with a share in every lucrative business from coast to coast. Because of their vast shipping network and their trade alliances with many international subsidiaries, winning an exclusive representation contract from Angeles would mean tremendous growth for Winchester Associates, giving them access to international markets much further than what had been previously possible. But beyond the benefits to his company, tonight Dean also has an ulterior motive. If the talks with the Novaks are positive, his father will be in a good mood. And a good mood for John Winchester means an easier battle when Dean talks to him after the party.

Saying a silent prayer to whoever is listening, he goes over to where the band is set up, to prepare for his performance.

 

  

 

 

 


	3. Philia: Affectionate Love

_Parahit'artham' va'unmanaso yatha'rthatvam' satyam"_

_Satya (Truth) is the benevolent use of words and the mind for the welfare of others_

_~ patanjali yogasutras, sutra number 2.36_

 

 

_The first time Castiel rebelled, he was six years old._

_He brought a stray cat home, and his mother forbade him from keeping it. But the poor cat needed his help, and he couldn’t bear the thought of letting it go. So he bundled her up in his favorite sweater and ran away._

_He ran and he ran, all the way to the end of the world._

_Or at least, to the end of his world, which happened to be the end of his street. There Mrs. Hudson from three doors down, who was pruning her roses in the front yard, found him sitting outside her gate. She let him help her with her gardening, teaching him about the plants and flowers. (He didn’t find out that she called and alerted his mother of his whereabouts until many years later). Then she gave him a glass of cool homemade lemonade and a plate of his favorite peanut butter cookies before she brought him home. She even gave the cat a saucer of milk._

_Everyone in his large family thought it was the cutest act of rebellion they had ever seen, and from that day forward his father called him his “Little Rebel Angel.”_

_They let him keep the cat._

_When Castiel was twelve years old, he rebelled again._

_This time, he wasn’t alone. Meg, his friend from school, was with him._

_Kelly, a sweet girl in their class, was an adopted child. Her foster parents weren’t very nice people, and Kelly usually dressed in tattered and frayed hand-me-downs that were too big for her slight frame. One lunch period Cas and Meg found her shivering on the basketball court, drenched from the summer downpour. Her guardians had refused to buy her a raincoat._

_Castiel felt indignation at this injustice. It really wasn’t fair that the poor girl had to suffer, not when Castiel was perfectly capable of doing something about it._

_The two seventh graders spent a whole day making bookmarks and cards, then hopped on a bus to the local crafts fair to sell them._

_When the two friends made their exhausted way back home, Castiel was pleased that they had enough money to help Kelly buy a raincoat._

_Of course, this time, his mother was none too pleased. His running away was no longer cute. She grounded him for a week and withheld his pocket allowance for three whole months. The worst punishment, though, was the look in his mother’s eyes: disappointment. Castiel didn’t  know what he did wrong: after all, he only wanted to help a friend._

_Especially since his mother invited Kelly over more often for play dates and made sure to send her home with leftovers._

_For the next four years, Castiel tried to be the perfect son. He didn’t run away, no matter how much he wanted to do something to help someone or the other. He couldn’t forget the disappointment in his mother’s eyes and didn’t wish to cause it again._

_Instead, he found solace in the world of books and stories, sitting in the cozy armchair of his library at home. Sometimes, he sat in the perpetually sunny corner of the school library, watching the dust particles drift lazily, and travelled with them to endless imaginary universes._

_He read of princes that helped the villagers, and Robin Hood, who stole from the rich to help the poor._

_When he was fifteen, his AP World History class were studying the contrasting approaches to independence in Vietnam and India, one violent, the other eschewing violence for the peaceful non-cooperation movement called Satyagraha. Fascinated by the idea of one man, seemingly without power or riches, overthrowing the entire British empire, he chose Gandhi as the subject of his final course essay. It was during this research that he came across the autobiography of Mahatma Gandhi, The Story Of My Experiments With Truth._

_One particular anecdote of Gandhi’s youth affected him deeply. As a young boy of fifteen, Gandhi stole some money from his father’s wallet and lied about it. Later, filled with remorse, he wrote a letter admitting his crime. His father, a truthful and righteous man himself, read the confession and cried. Not because his son stole from him, but because he was truthful and remorseful. Reading this, Castiel came to the realization that the reason for his mother’s disappointment all those years ago was not about him helping his friend, but in the fact that Castiel lied in doing so. That he hid his intentions, however well-meaning, from the people who loved him._

_Gandhi defined God as Truth with a capital T and his life a path in search of it. Each incident of his failure on this journey, from eating meat to visiting a prostitute, made him stronger and more resolute in seeking the Ultimate Truth._

_This made such an impact on Castiel that he vowed to live by the ideals of truthfulness for the rest of his life. Gandhi made scrupulous truth-telling a religion, a calling, and in reading the great man’s words, Castiel found his._

_He had always felt the pull to help others, but now he had direction, a purpose, and a roadmap that he could travel along._

_Castiel realized that in this, at least, he had an advantage. He had the resources of his company and his wealth. He had the ability to help a larger number of those in need, and he would have to learn how to run it. After all, he reasoned, his idol, Gandhi, started his altruistic life as a lawyer, too._

_Castiel decided to go to Stanford for his undergrad and then get his MBA from Harvard. Charles Novak wasn’t surprised. He knew his son had too much heart, and when Castiel explained his reasons, Charles gave his blessing._

_Through his undergrad years, Castiel interned at Angeles Corporation, rotating through various departments to get an overall idea of how his company ran at the ground level. During this time, he identified several areas where the company could make changes and made suggestions to his father which were implemented and welcomed by their employees. By the time Castiel completed his Bachelor’s degree, Angeles had gained a reputation in the field as being the best employer in terms of employee satisfaction and became the flag bearer for equal opportunity employment._

_His success prompted his father to offer him a place on the board once he finished his MBA, and so Castiel enrolled in the residential two-year program at Harvard. This turned out to be the turning point in Castiel’s life._

 

_Here, Castiel met Dean Winchester._

 

_Actually, “met” may be stretching the definition a bit. Dean likely didn’t even know Castiel existed, despite them sharing quite a few of their classes._

_They moved in different social circles, Dean being the outgoing popular guy, Castiel the student who wanted to keep his head down, study and get back to his purpose: helping people._

_But Castiel was never quite able to ignore the bright spark that was Dean Winchester._

_Not only was the man ridiculously good-looking, but he usually had a brilliant smile on his face. He was smart yet unassuming, with a sharp wit and incisive analytical insight into the case studies their professors threw at them. Unlike other guys that would have let this go to their heads, Dean seemed completely unaware of the effect he had on people._

_Over the two years that they existed in the same galaxy, Castiel might have tried to drum up the courage to at least speak to the man, but Dean was accompanied by a string of equally attractive companions, male and female, with regular frequency. Castiel had neither the inclination nor the time and energy to become a minor conquest on Dean Winchester’s bedpost. And so he pined from afar, orbiting just outside of his brilliance._

 

__

 

When, on a fated September evening, Castiel walks into the Winchester’s party he has no idea that Dean Winchester is about to become the cause of Castiel’s biggest rebellion yet.

“Okay, Cassie, time to get that stick out of your ass, bro! Look lively, chop chop.” Gabriel Novak steers his brother into the Winchester’s beautifully lit ballroom.

Castiel tries, not very successfully, to ignore his brother’s antics as he is prodded repeatedly in the back by said brother.

“Cut it out, Gabe!” He turns around with a frown. “Can you at least behave tonight. Dad will be quite incensed if you make a spectacle of yourself in a gathering of our most favored allies.”

Gabriel squints his eyes as he looks at his brother shrewdly, “Hmmm. You make a good point, Cassie, but is that the _real_ reason you want me to behave, I wonder?”

“Wh...what...I have no idea what you mean, Gabriel.” Castiel huffs, although he is unable to stop his cheeks heating up in embarrassment. He can’t deny that he has been ridden with anxiety since the party invitation dropped on his desk. The prospect of seeing Dean Winchester again after all these years makes butterflies in his stomach flutter with nervous anticipation. Especially when, Castiel knows quite well (he wasn’t stalking, he was just curious in a totally platonic non-interested way) that Dean had gotten even more handsome since his Harvard days, and his brilliance is now famously talked about in business circles.

Although he really thought he was better at concealing his crush, Gabriel had always had an almost precognitive ability of perception, especially where Castiel was the subject.

“Oh sure, Cassie. All that blushing wouldn’t have anything to do with seeing a certain green-eyed Winchester, would it?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Shhh! Keep your voice down, you...you Assbutt!” Castiel frantically shushes his loudmouth brother, looking around to make sure no one overheard. “It’s not like that. In any case, I doubt Dean even knows I exist…”

He is interrupted by the first strains of a guitar starting up, and the whispering of the crowd dies down. They both turn towards the stage where the band is set up, and Castiel draws in a sharp breath at the sight. A spotlight highlights Dean standing in the center of the stage, his guitar in hand, as he holds the note. The lighting makes his hair shine auburn, and he looks exquisite. His lean figure and broad shoulders are accentuated by a custom-made burgundy jacket and well fitted black trousers. A soft smile plays on his lips as he looks down at the strings, and when he looks up, the green of his eyes makes Castiel’s heart miss a beat.

Beside him, Gabriel nudges Castiel with an elbow, leaning in to whisper, “Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned anything about your crush to Dad then…”

Castiel turns to his brother sharply to reprimand him, but his attention is snatched away as Dean begins playing, and suddenly Castiel can’t be bothered with anything Gabriel says or does. In fact, when Dean starts singing he nearly forgets that his brother is even there. Dean’s voice washes over the crowd, his eyes closed, a rapturous look on his face.

 _Mama told me when I was young_  
_"Come sit beside me, my only son_  
_And listen closely to what I say_ _  
_ And if you do this it'll help you some sunny day"

Castiel cannot help but stare, and he doesn’t realize he is gaping until Gabriel gently pushes his mouth closed with a finger under his chin.

The band is silent, as Dean continues to sing, accompanied only by his guitar. The song holds a solemn tone, and it feels as if Dean is singing privately. The effect is made all the more profound as Dean suddenly looks up into the crowd, a private smile on his face.

Somewhere near the second refrain, the band joins in, but Castiel hardly even notices, completely enraptured by the man he has loved from afar for as long as he can remember.

He becomes aware of his surroundings only when the crowd starts applauding and roaring its approval. Dean grins at their enthusiasm, waving his arms in acknowledgment as he jumps down from the stage, Castiel’s eyes straining to search him out as he is swallowed up by the crowd.

Gabriel waves his hands in front of Castiel’s face to catch his attention, an impish grin on his face, “He’s done, Casanova!”

Flustered, Castiel looks at his brother in annoyance, “What is it, Gabe?”

Gabe shrugs, “Your boy toy’s done, and,” he points to his phone, “Dad’s calling. C’mon, we’ve got to go. Time for the meeting.”

 

 


	4. Storge : Familiar Love

_There are three ways to the self-destructive hell: Lust, Anger & Greed_

_~ Bhagvad Gita_

 

 

“WHAT THE FUCK, SAMMY?!!!!” Dean is seething, waving his arms in the air as he storms out of the meeting room. “How dare he? How could he… and what century do the Novaks think this is? Fucking hell, man!”

Dean strides furiously through the halls, heading for his room, Sam trailing behind him.

“Dean, listen!” Sam places a hand on Dean’s shoulder to calm him, which he shrugs off as he walks ahead. “Look, you can refuse. Chuck didn’t say it was a condition to getting the deal. He meant….”

They reach the open doors of the den, and Dean detours there instead, heading straight for the bar. If there’s any time that he deserves a drink, it is this.

“I don’t care what he meant, Sam! You know as well as I do that Dad is going to take it that way. And why the hell would he say I would, anyway! Without even checking with me, Sam! That’s fucked up and you know it!”

Sam quietly closes the door behind him, as he watches Dean pour himself a shot of whiskey and drain it in one go.

“Look, Dean, we can still talk to Dad. I’m sure if we just…”

“Yeah right! When has Dad ever listened to me, Sam. I hear enough of how disappointing I am as a son without this...this fucking bullshit!”  

Dean slams the glass down and strides to the couch where he slumps down, head in his hands. How? How did everything go to hell in just a couple of hours? Not two hours ago he was excited about finally being able to talk to Dad about Benny and now all of a sudden, he is engaged, or near enough to it. What the fuck was Chuck Novak thinking? Who does that? Just outright asked for Dean’s hand in marriage for his son. In the middle of a meeting about the biggest deal Winchester Associates could ever hope for.

Okay, Dean can admit, grudgingly, that Chuck hadn’t actually _asked for his hand in marriage_ . It had been an off-hand comment about both Dean and his son Castiel being eligible bachelors and wouldn't it be convenient if they fell in love or something. But John! God, Dean didn’t know whether his father was the most oblivious or the most cunning fucker on the planet because John jumped on that like flies on shit. FIVE MINUTES! Five fucking minutes was all it took before John had proposed the match, saying Dean was single ( _Thanks Dad! Did you even think to fucking ask?!_ ) and willing.

Groaning in frustration, Dean pulls at his hair. “What the fuck am I going to do?” he mutters, almost forgetting that Sam is in the room.

“Dean! Call Benny! Maybe we can…maybe you can still talk to Dad, both of you.” Sam says.

“No, Sam, he’d never even listen to us now, and you know it!” Dean can’t sit still anymore, and he begins pacing in frustration.

Sam goes still suddenly, a determined expression on his face, “Then run away.”

Dean is so shocked that he stops his pacing and looks at Sam incredulously, “What??!”

“Yeah, if he doesn’t listen to you, then you go with Benny when he leaves tomorrow. I’ll handle the situation here.”

For a brief second, Dean is tempted. He considers what it would be like to leave, to go live his own life, to be with Benny. But John has done his job well over the years. Dean has been trained from the very beginning to be completely and utterly devoted to two things: Sammy and the family business. Dean’s own happiness has never been a part of that equation, and he doesn’t know if he has it in him now to make it one.

“You don’t know what you’re suggesting, Sam. And okay, technically, I can leave with Benny, and Dad can’t do jackshit about it. But this is too big, Sammy. What about the family business? I can’t...I won’t let Dad down like that. I can’t just run away from this! And...and what about the Novaks?”

“You don’t need to worry about that, Dean! First of all, I don’t think you saying no would jeopardize the deal anyway, I don’t think that’s what Chuck was saying at all. But even if it is, I’ll handle it.”

“Sam, I can’t! What if the Novaks pull back the deal? It’s too big a risk! I can’t… I fucking can’t do that.”

Sam moves closer, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder, his sincerest puppy-eyes in full deployment, “Dean, no deal is bigger than your happiness. It’s just money. Stop thinking about that, about Dad or the company for once, and think about yourself.”

But it isn’t just about the Novak deal. Their company is big enough that the loss of one deal wouldn’t hurt them. But losing the Novak deal could mean losing reputation in the market, and that might have a snowball effect in losing more prestigious clients. No, Dean can’t be single-handedly responsible for ruining the family business. It was built from the ground up by their grandfather and it is Sam’s legacy. Dean can’t be the one to take it away from him.

He sighs, resigned, there is no option but to accept his fate, and is about to tell his brother so when there is a knock on the door.

Both brothers look at each other, Sam’s eyebrow rising in question. Dean rubs a hand across his face, composing himself, before nodding his permission at Sam.

Sam walks to the door, and Dean hears a muted conversation with someone with a deep rumbling voice before Sam gently shuts the door and turns to Dean.

“It’s Castiel.” He says with a grimace. “He wants to talk to you.”

“What does he want now? A quick wedding?!” Dean bites out, before taking a deep breath to center himself. “Yeah, okay. Let him in.”

“Do you want me to stay?” Sam offers, and Dean is almost tempted to accept, but he can’t be sure that Sam won’t open his mouth and let the cat out of the bag, and that is something Dean can’t risk. He has a plan, one where the family business is safe, Sam’s future is safe, and he can’t let Sammy’s good intentions ruin it.

“Nah, it’s okay, I’m fine. Let him in.”

Sam opens the door and steps aside, letting the younger Novak son in.

He hesitates just inside the door, unsure, before saying, “Hello Dean. Hello Sam.”

Dean never really got an opportunity to hear Castiel speak before, but he is surprised by the low timbre of his voice, and under different circumstances might have even found it attractive. But right now, all his resentment and anger, with the situation, with his father, and with the Novaks, finds an unwitting target in the person before him. He refuses to acknowledge the man, staring resolutely at the floor.

Sam clears his throat in an attempt to break the awkward silence, “Uhm, Hello..um… Mr. Novak.”

Dean curiously casts a side-eyed glance at the man, to see him flush at being addressed by title, “Uh, please. Call me Castiel. Um...I wished to speak to Dean, before um…well, before any decisions are made, if that is acceptable?” He looks at Dean for his permission, and all Dean can do is stare at the man. God alone knows what would come out of his mouth right now if he attempted speech.

Dean exchanges a silent look with Sam, giving a barely perceptible nod to indicate that it is okay for Sam to leave.

As Sam closes the door gently behind him, Castiel moves further into the room.

Dean finally looks up at the man, who is stood nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his ridiculously patterned suit jacket. His ridiculously patterned _gold_ suit jacket. Despite his weird dress sense, Dean can objectively say that the man is not bad looking. He is not classically handsome, heck his hair for one is an untameable mess of dark brown locks. Neither does he possess a burly physique like Benny, yet there is something about him that is striking, in a magnetic sort of way. But Dean’s heart is no longer his own, and all he feels when he looks at the man is extreme annoyance.

“Why did you want to see me?” he snaps.

Castiel startles at the sharp question. Perhaps that came out harsher than Dean intended but he isn’t exactly feeling charitable right now.

“Oh! Yes. Um.. I… I just wanted to say…” Castiel is still standing, fidgeting with his cufflink, “Uhm..may I sit?” He suddenly asks, pointing to the single couch across from Dean.

Dean stares hard at him, before nodding his head in acquiescence.

“Look, um, Dean. I am as stunned as I believe you must be about what happened in that meeting earlier. And I just want to say… that is… you don’t… you don’t have to do this. I can assure you that my father never intended, perhaps never even imagined this as an outcome.”

Dean just stares coldly at Castiel while he speaks, refusing to make this easier for him.

“I just wanted to let you know that you are under no obligation to accept this proposal, Dean. I’m not socially adept at the best of times. I’m usually reserved and quiet. Whereas, you…” Castiel takes a deep breath, “You are amazing, Dean. You are so full of life and charm. I.. I know I’m not… what you might have wished for in a spouse.”

“Why don’t _you_ refuse, then? If you know you are so different from what I want, why can’t you tell your father you aren’t interested in this marriage? Specially since it was _his_ brilliant idea in the first place.”

Castiel’s eyes go wide for an instant before he squirms uncomfortably in the chair, his gaze darting everywhere in the room but at Dean. “I can’t.” He says, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck.

“But _why_ ?” Dean presses a fist to his mouth as he swallows his anger, “Look, man. _I_ risk everything here, _I_ risk losing what my family has built. And why? Because your dad couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut!"

Castiel stiffens, “Please don’t speak of my father in that tone.”

“You know what?” Dean stands up in irritation, looming over Castiel, “I’ll speak of him any damn way I like. It’s his stupid idea that’s about to ruin my life!”

Castiel flinches at the vehemence in Dean’s tone, but then he squares his shoulders as he says, “It’s not his fault. If Gabe hadn’t…” he cuts off, biting his lip in contemplation. He seems to come to a decision as he takes a deep breath through his nose. He looks sincerely at Dean.

“Dean, I hope you will not be offended by what I am about to say but... I believe I am an honest man. I value truthfulness above all else, especially so when this could mean the beginning of a lifelong relationship. Dean, I have lov... _liked_ you for a long time. At Harvard…”

“Harvard?!!” Dean’s voice is a high-pitched squeak as he stumbles backward.

“Uh.. yes, I know. I know it seems inconceivable, we’ve hardly met, and outside of our mutual classes, or some mutual business acquaintances, I’m certain you’ve barely even noticed me. But for me… You shine so bright that it was impossible not to see you, and the more I saw, the more I was drawn to your warmth, to your...light. And while I was happy with how things stood, I can’t deny that nothing that would make me happier than to have the opportunity to spend my life with you. If I refuse this marriage,” He shrugs, spreading his hands in front of him, “it would be a lie. And I abhor lies.”

 _Oh, he’s good!_ Dean looks away, refusing to meet the other man’s eyes. _And who even uses words like ‘abhor’ in casual conversation?_

“Dean! Please, say _something_.” Castiel implores.

Dean clenches his jaw hard and glares his animosity towards the man. The sincere schtick is almost enough to fool him. Almost. But Dean finally gets it. The prince of the Angeles empire found a shiny new toy, and Daddy is getting it for his spoilt little brat. And the dude has been watching him! _Sheesh_ , what a creep!

“Are.. are you being forced to do this? Is that it? Please, Dean. Silence will serve no purpose.” Castiel runs his hands through his hair in frustration, messing it up even more. “If there is anything you want to say, tell me. I promise, I’ll support you, whatever you need.  Please, tell me now, before it is too late. Before we end up carrying a burdened relationship for life.”

Well, he’s not going to give the man the satisfaction of the moral high ground. He turns abruptly, and Castiel fumbles to stand, flummoxed by his sudden movement.

Dean avoids looking at Castiel directly, “Are you done? I have an early meeting tomorrow. ” He walks over to open the door, and gestures with one hand for Castiel to leave.

“Of… of course. Yes.” Castiel stammers. He pauses at the door to look at Dean, staring intensely, as if trying to read his thoughts, “Goodbye, Dean.”

As Dean closes the door behind Cas, he can't help but feel he’s closing the door to his happiness. _How is this his life?_ This wasn’t supposed to happen. He had everything planned out. He was in love with _Benny_ . He couldn’t do this.  
But he would _have to_ . For Dad. For the family business. _For Sammy._

_  
_

_  
_

_  
_

No one is more surprised than Castiel when the Winchesters accept the marriage proposal.

Castiel tries to contact Dean, or even Sam, to find out what made Dean change his mind, but things move at hurricane speeds after that, and their whirlwind wedding makes headlines across America. It seems no time at all has passed between the Winchesters saying _Yes_ and Castiel watching Dean walk towards him across the church, decked in a bespoke suit of the darkest blue, a jade green tie complimenting his eyes. He looks breathtaking. Castiel swallows and hears the loud click of it in his ears. _Husband! Dean will be his husband in a few short moments!_

Dean refuses to meet his eyes, looking resolutely forward, and Castiel feels his heart sink. He can feel it in his gut, has been feeling it since he met Dean in the Winchester home, that something is horribly, dreadfully wrong. Behind Dean, Sam smiles tentatively at Cas, trying to give reassurance, but it’s not enough.

Then Father Murphy is speaking, and the ceremony begins. Castiel gives the right responses when asked to do so, and tries not to wince as Dean does the same in clipped tones. But suddenly they are pronounced husbands, and when Castiel leans forward to place a polite kiss on Dean’s lips as required, he notices the slight backward flinch before Dean schools his features and lets him.

It gets even worse on what is supposed to be their wedding night, Dean remains sullen and aloof, disappearing into the bathroom as soon as they reach their hotel suite that is Gabriel’s wedding gift. Castiel looks after him forlornly, then sighs and starts changing out of his wedding tux. Dressed in his sleep clothes, he gathers a pillow and blanket from the linen closet and spreads it out on the couch in the living area.

He hears the sound of the water stop in the shower, and then the click of the door as Dean comes out into the bedroom. Castiel puts his phone on the coffee table and prepares to sleep when Dean opens the bedroom door and leans casually against the frame, shirtless and wearing only a pair of soft sleep pants. “What? Aren’t you coming to bed?”, he asks with one eyebrow raised in inquiry.

“N..no, I’ll… It’s okay, I can take the couch.” Castiel stammers. In his business dealings, Castiel is the calm one. It takes a lot to ruffle his composure, to the point where he is often accused of being an emotionless robot, but the sight of a shirtless Dean in the close confines of _their honeymoon suite_ may be too much even for his self-control.

Dean saunters over to stand in front of Castiel, a hand on his hips (and Castiel really really tries not to let his eyes wander to those delicious hip bones jutting out from the loose waist of his pants), “Why, Castiel, I thought that was the whole point of this marriage.” Dean drawls, “Don’t you want to get with this?” He waves a hand up and down his body, Castiel’s eyes involuntarily following the movement.

“Are...are you serious?” Castiel’s eyes are wide as saucers, his voice high in incredulity.

“Of course.” Dean’s eyes are hooded, “Daddy bought you a new toy, didn’t he? Aren’t you gonna play with it?” He circles a finger around his nipple.

Castiel doesn’t know what makes him flush, the action or the words, but he feels his anger rising. “You...you think...I married you for...for _sex_ ?!” He can’t believe Dean is suggesting physical intimacy so casually, so...degradingly, and all arousal is evaporated in one quick second, “Dean, I married you because...because I wanted to cherish the man I loved, but never got a chance to _know_. To find out your dreams and your desires, your favorite foods and what kind of music you like. To fall asleep in your arms, and wake up with you. Not to satiate some kind of...lust.” He sneers the last word, turning away from his husband and lifting his legs onto the couch. He waves a hand at Dean, resigned, “Go to sleep, Dean. Good night.”

He turns onto his side, facing the back of the couch, leaving Dean standing there with his mouth open, agape.

 

 

Dean is fuming when he plonks himself on the huge king-sized bed. He doesn’t know whether to feel relieved that Castiel didn’t take him up on his offer or humiliated that Castiel rejected him so casually.

He snatches up his phone from the bedside table, pulling up Benny’s contact in the messages.

 _Hey, Ben. You up?_ He presses send, not really expecting a response.

Benny was hurt and angry when Dean decided to go along with John’s wishes instead of standing up to him and fighting for them. Despite Dean trying to stop him, Benny had flown back to LA the very next day after the party, refusing to listen to any explanations. Eventually, Dean had written an email explaining his reasons, hoping with all his heart that Benny would actually read it, instead of deleting it without even bothering to open it. Benny never replied.

Sam had tried, with all his might, to get Dean to come clean to John about him and Benny, and when Dean had refused, Sam had gone ahead and told John anyway.

 

_John had been livid, “Son, I’m not angry because you love Benny.  But by agreeing to this marriage, I’m now put in a position where we’ll lose face worldwide, Dean. Not only personally with Chuck Novak, but in the eyes of the world. This marriage is getting so much publicity as the biggest merger of two business powerhouses, that backing out of it now is going to be the biggest bad-faith move we can make.”_

_Despite all that, John had been about to call Chuck Novak to call the whole thing off, when Dean had put on the greatest acting challenge of his life._ _It was time put Dean, the lover away, and bring out Dean Winchester, Daddy’s little soldier. No emotion, all business. He knew the guilt of it all would come crashing down on him later, but for now, he had a part to play, and goddamn he was gonna ace it._

_He scoffed at Sam even as he felt his nails cutting into the meat of his palms, “What Sammy, you forgot my reputation all of a sudden, huh? You know I don’t do relationships, man!”_

_Sam looked at him incredulously, “What?!”_

_“Pfft!”, Dean curled his lip in contempt, “Sure, I mean, Benny was a good looking guy and all, so of course I was gonna tap that, you know me.”_

_John scowled, “Son, are you saying you_ don’t _love Benny?”_

_“Dad, C’mon! I don’t do love, man. I’m an equal opportunities guy, I like to spread the love. There’s enough awesome to go around, amiright?” Dean gestured to himself._

_John pushed his hands into his hair in frustration and groaned, “Dean!”_

_Sam’s jaw dropped to the floor, “But...Dean...you…”_

_“Close your mouth, Sammy, or it’ll stick that way.” Dean managed to smirk, sliding his eyes away from his brother to hide the emotions Sam would surely see, “Dad. I’m fine with this wedding, okay? There’s no reason to cancel anything.”_

 

As Dean remembers that conversation, his heart clenches painfully. _He really does deserve that fucking statuette._

He doesn’t know if Benny is going to even respond, doesn’t know if he has seen or read Dean’s email. He definitely can’t call Sammy because at this moment he is supposed to be blissfully enjoying his wedding night.

He’s never felt more alone.

 

 

When Castiel wakes up the next morning, he knocks on the bedroom door quietly. Hearing a disgruntled _Yeah_ , he nudges the door open to find Dean already showered and dressed for the day, sitting with his back to the headboard and fiddling with his phone.

Castiel hesitates in the doorway, before tentatively starting an apology, “Dean, I…”

Dean stands up from the bed suddenly, interrupting him mid-sentence, “I’m going to order breakfast.” He walks out of the room without looking at Castiel, who stares wistfully after him before going into the bathroom.

Castiel tries to let the pounding of the hot water soothe the tension from his muscles and his mind with little success. He doesn’t know how to break the glacier of ice between Dean and himself. He is even more confused as to why Dean would agree to this marriage if he wasn’t happy, especially when Castiel had made it clear that he was under no obligation to do so.

The thoughts swirl around in his brain without respite, but he can see no solution in sight, especially if Dean can’t even look at him, let alone speak to him. Normally, he would turn to his father for advice, but in this case, it feels too much like a betrayal to discuss Dean or his issues. He turns off the shower, and hurriedly dresses before joining Dean with some trepidation. He has no idea what to say or do.

In the living area of the suite, Dean is seated at the roundtable, a breakfast tray laid out before him, and Castiel notes that there is only one service. He doesn’t know why, but that small slight has Castiel retreating into himself, all thoughts of reconciliation or talking disappearing into the morning light streaming in from the open drapes.

He makes himself a cup of coffee at the hotel’s supplied coffee maker and takes it out on the balcony to drink while they wait for the car Gabe had booked to pick them up for the airport.

After a tense and silent car ride and even tenser flight, they are received by a company car and brought to Castiel’s townhouse in Houston Heights. Thanking the chauffeur, Castiel gestures for Dean to go ahead of him into the building. “This way, Dean.”

“You live here?” Dean asks, looking up at the brick facade of the modest three storey home. “I thought Novak House was in River Oaks?”

Castiel looks at him, surprised. This is the first time Dean has voluntarily spoken to him since the disaster of the previous night. “Yes, it is. Though I prefer to live here” he clarifies, “It’s closer to work, and I find Novak House too...extravagant.”

“Hmm.” Dean looks thoughtful, “It’s...nice.”

Castiel can’t help the hopeful smile that flickers on his face as he turns to open the front door. After all, this is the first decent, well not-outright-antagonistic, thing Dean has said to him. “Come, I’ll give you a tour,” Castiel says, leading him through the door.

 

 

To say that Dean is feeling wrong-footed is putting it mildly. For someone as rich and entitled as Castiel, Dean had expected a grand mansion-like house and a butler opening the door offering to take his coat. But this house just seems so _normal_.

As he follows Castiel into the house, they enter a bright open plan living area with floating wooden floorboards polished to a gleaming shine. The decor is simplistic. A sofa set done in beige corduroy is placed opposite a gas log fireplace, flanked by two elegant glass topped corner tables. A matching coffee-table is placed in the center, with a large wide-screen TV fixed on the wall above the fireplace. There are no prints or ornate knick knacks on and around the walls, giving the place a clean, modern look. Off to the left, an equally simple dining area opens into what he can see is the kitchen.

Castiel leads him upstairs, pointing out the home office/study at the end of the stairs, and the guest bedroom. The entire top floor consists of the master suite, with a spacious bedroom done in neutral colors, an ensuite bathroom, and a large walk-in closet. Across from the entrance, wide double doors open onto a balcony with breathtaking views of the Houston business district.

If Dean were feeling amicable, he might have called Castiel’s house elegant and tasteful, but since he isn’t, he thinks it is drab, just like it’s owner. He walks out onto the balcony, looking out at the skyline, where the glass facades of the tall buildings glimmer in the mid-morning light. Behind him, he hears Castiel moving about but doesn’t bother to turn around until he hears Castiel clear his throat.

“Uh… you can freshen up if you like.” Dean turns around to find Castiel standing awkwardly, a bundle of clothes and a suit bag balanced in is arms, “I’ve, um, I’ve taken a change of clothes and my toiletries and I’ll get the rest of my stuff moved to the second-floor bedroom this evening. I cleared out… uh, there’s space in the closet for your stuff when it arrives. This is... _your_ room, Dean, so please, feel free to change something if you like. I...I want you to feel comfortable here.”

When Dean remains silent, Castiel nods, “Um.. okay, uh. I’ll be downstairs, then. If you come down once you’ve freshened up, I can show you where everything is in the kitchen. I’ll...I’ll put on some coffee.” He stammers, before hurrying out, gently closing the door behind him.

Dean drops down on the bed, groaning, clutching at his hair, he flops back onto the bed, his legs still dangling off the side and stares at the ornate ceiling fan above. Barely twenty-four hours into this marriage, and he is already feeling smothered. He doesn’t know how he’s going to get through this in one piece. He checks his phone, but there is still no reply from Benny, and pain lances through his heart. He wants to scream, to rave and rant, to throw something to rumple the calm order of this room. But he can’t.

He doesn’t know how long he stays on the bed, but the smell of coffee wafting up from the kitchen tickles his nostrils and he sits up. He looks around at his surroundings. There has to be a way out of this...this place. This situation. He just has to find it.

He opens the door quietly, listening for any movement from downstairs, and finding none, he creeps silently out, making his way to the kitchen. Castiel is nowhere to be seen, so Dean looks through the pristine overhead cabinets for a mug and pours himself some coffee. He leans against the counter, sipping the admittedly excellent coffee, and looks around at the kitchen. Stainless steel appliances gleam in the bright lighting but look like they’re rarely used. A double door fridge proves to be well stocked on inspection, but Castiel seems to be as much of a health food freak as his brother because the shelves have an abundance of yogurts and fruits. _Ugh, what a mismatch!_ .  
He does spy some relishes and sandwich meats, and figuring there’s no point waiting for another awkward silence moment with Castiel, makes himself a sandwich. He’s not sure how Castiel might feel about food in the bedrooms, but he did say to make himself comfortable, so Dean escapes to the bedroom with his plate. Thank god the room has a wide screen TV, so Dean hunts for the remote and turns it on. It starts on a nature documentary channel, which Dean figures is what Castiel would have been watching last. What a dweeb. He quickly flicks through channels, and to his delight, finds a Dr. Sexy marathon, so he makes himself comfortable against the headboard and loses himself in the dramatic lives of the cowboy boots wearing doctor and his pretty assistant, Dr. Piccolo.

 

 

 


	5. Philautia: Self Love

_We are afraid to care too much, for fear that the the other person cares not at all._

_~Eleanor Roosevelt_

 

 

Castiel curses himself for being a coward.

He had been sitting in his study, going over emails when he heard Dean go downstairs to the kitchen. He knows he should have drummed up the guts to follow him, be a good host. But he figured his kitchen was straightforward enough, and if Dean wanted, he would get himself something to eat from the fridge.

Sure enough, when he gathers up the courage to go downstairs, he sees that Dean has helped himself to a sandwich and retreated back to the upstairs bedroom. Feeling guilty, yet relieved, Castiel proceeds to do the same for himself.

He had taken the week off from work to help Dean settle in, but it seems absurd to do so now when Dean obviously cannot even stand his presence. Taking his sandwich back to the study, he emails his assistant, Hannah, that he will be in tomorrow, and if anything needs his urgent attention, to forward it to him to look at. He confirms with her that Dean’s office is prepared for him, grateful that Sam had assisted with selecting Dean’s preferred style of office furniture.

He starts making his way up to the third floor to ask Dean if he wants to accompany him to the office tomorrow, but he shudders at the prospect of their strained silence in front of other people. Especially when “other people” includes his brother Gabriel. Pausing on the landing between the two floors, he figures he can always ask Dean in the morning. _Chicken_! He chides himself.

After a fitful night of tossing and turning, Castiel wakes up groggy and numb. A quick shower later he makes his way downstairs, automatically turning on the coffee. He reaches into the pantry for the cereal, his usual choice of breakfast. His hand pauses midway, remembering the generous breakfast spread before Dean the previous morning, and he thinks of at least one way he can make his husband’s life easier.

Pulling out eggs and bacon from the fridge, he sets about getting together the ingredients for pancakes. Once his coffee is ready, he sips at his first cup (of many) while he prepares the breakfast, letting the repetitive actions sooth his restless thoughts.

Once everything is ready, he sets it out on the adjoining dining table and goes upstairs to wake Dean. He pauses short of knocking on the door, going back to what is currently his room, and changes into his work clothes. Steeling himself, he knocks on Dean’s door but receives no response. Figuring Dean is still asleep, he goes downstairs, wraps the food in foil, and places everything in the oven to keep it warm. Then he writes a quick note letting Dean know about breakfast, as well as his phone number, both cell, and office. Looking around for something to hold the note in place, his eyes fall on the colorful flowers in the small garden to the side of the house. He quickly goes out, plucks a few and brings them back, placing them in a glass of water, and then placing the glass on the note to hold it in place.

Looking wistfully at the blooms, he smiles at the happy feeling they evoke. Then he second guesses himself, and quickly moves the glass to the kitchen windowsill and uses the bottle of honey to hold down the note instead.

If he thought going into the office would allow him to avoid the nightmare that was becoming his life, he was sorely mistaken.

Word has gotten to Gabriel (no thanks to Hannah) that Castiel is coming in, and so the peace he had been seeking in his office is not to be. He is accosted by his brother as soon as he steps into his cabin.

“Yo, Cassie-bro? Wotcha doin’ abandoning that hot piece of husband o’yours?”

“Gabe..” Castiel tries to avoid looking at his brother. He knows the minute Gabe looks at his eyes, he’s going to suss out that something is wrong.

“I mean, to each his own, I guess, but if I had that hotness in my bed, I’d be pretty reluctant to leave it, y’know what I’m sayin’?” Gabe waggles his eyebrows comically.

“Its..its not like that.” Castiel brushes past Gabe to get to the safety of his desk.

“I mean, do you need an extra cushion on your chair? Or does he? I don’t judge, either way…”

“Shut up!” Cas nearly shouts, mortified. “I’m sorry. But please, just not now.”

Gabriel’s expression goes instantly thoughtful, “Cassie…?” he says softly.

Castiel sits down heavily in his chair, rests his elbows on the desk, as he leans in his head on his hands. His eyes sting with tears he tries desperately to control, “It’s...he… we never…” He looks up at his brother, and the tears finally fall, all the stress of the past two days leaking out through his eyes.

“Cassie..?! What the hell?” Gabe comes and kneels near him, folding him in his arms, and Castiel breaks down completely. Once he’s composed enough to speak, he relays what occurred since they left the church and subsequent reception, and Gabe’s face goes redder and redder as his anger builds. His brother may play the fool and trickster, but he is fiercely protective of his family, and a wrathful Gabriel can put even his archangel namesake to shame.

“I will kill him. I swear, Cassie, I will end the little brat!”

Castiel sighs tiredly, “You will do no such thing. In fact, this conversation stays between you and me, Gabe. You have to promise me that.”

“WHY? Why shouldn’t we throw him back into that hell in Kansas, kill the Winchester deal and ruin the whole bloody lot of them!”

“BECAUSE THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT HE THINKS WOULD HAPPEN!” Castiel cannot stop himself from shouting. He takes a shuddering breath to calm himself, “I think...I think that is precisely why Dean Winchester agreed to marry me. If you do what you suggest, you’ll just be proving him right, Gabe.”  
“Okay”, Gabe pats Castiel on the back, “Okay, but if he hurts you in any way, I _will_ take matters into my own hand.” He warns, before pulling him back into his arms.

 

 

When Dean wakes up in the morning, the sun is streaming in from the plate glass doors of the balcony, and for a few precious moments, he basks in the warmth before reality comes crashing down on him.

Right... Texas. Angeles. Castiel.

 _Escape plan._ That’s what he needs.

Dean evaluates his options.

Castiel has made it clear that he is not interested in a physical relationship only, so he is not about to make any moves to consummate this marriage. Which means Dean can easily file for annulment when needed.

On one hand, Dean cannot afford to make a move until the Angeles deal is signed, and they still need Castiel to back Pergatia as well, so it would be foolish to rock the boat just yet.

On the other hand, this silent impasse between them is just as dangerous. He has to make some kind of peace with Castiel, if only to ensure he doesn’t get so pissed off with Dean as to take any negative decisions regarding Winchester Associates or Pergatia.

However, once both of those objectives are complete, nothing will stand in the way of Dean seeking an annulment on the grounds of duress.

Pleased with his planning, he feels fairly upbeat as he makes his way to the kitchen to grab some breakfast. He sees a piece of paper wedged under a bottle of honey, and once he reads the contents of the note, he cringes. While he was plotting, Castiel spent the morning cooking him breakfast. So Castiel is kinder and more considerate than Dean gave him credit for. Of course, it isn’t going to stop him from what he intends to do, but he will feel _slightly_ bad about it.

After guiltily consuming the frankly delicious food, he goes back to the bedroom to look up annulment laws in Texas. On a whim, he also emails Benny, letting him know his plans. He’s definitely not going to get Sam involved in this, his brother doesn’t need to be burdened with his angsty shit. Plus, he probably wouldn’t approve. Scratch that, he _definitely_ wouldn’t approve. And Dean is not particularly fond of listening to Sam lecture him about his life choices.

He spends the morning checking his email. Most of his workload at Winchester was finalized or handed off to either Sam or Christian, but there are still some clients who insist on dealing with Dean. He sees an email from some chick at Angeles, Hannah, who has sent a few design options for his business cards. All it says on the card, is his name and Angeles corporation, the company logo in one corner, with his contact details in the other. No title, no department, nothing.

Incensed, he takes out his own business card from his wallet and looks at where it proclaims, boldly, Dean Winchester, Managing Director, Winchester Associates.

So this is what it has come down to. He is nothing at Angeles.

How the mighty have fallen.

Well, this, he isn’t going to take lying down. Before he knows what he’s doing, he has changed into his business clothes, called a cab and is standing in the front foyer of Angeles HQ. The receptionist flounders a bit at hearing his name, but gives him directions to Castiel’s office and guides him to the elevators without argument.

Dean forgets all about his earlier resolution to play nice with Castiel as he marches into his lawfully wedded husband’s office and shuts the door before Castiel even knows what has happened, “De..Dean?!!” Castiel looks at him wide-eyed, his face paling as he catches the furious anger in his eyes.

“What’s the meaning of this, Castiel?” Dean advances towards the desk, flicking his phone on and turning it so Castiel can see the screen where the email attachments are still open.

“Um..bus..business cards?”

“Right. Right.” Dean rubs a hand over his mouth before pointing a finger at the phone, “ and where does it say what I am meant to be? Or am I gonna be known just as Castiel’s Novak’s husband, huh? Is that my new title?” He leans both hands on the desk, his knuckles pressing into the table. His voice is rising, but he doesn’t care right now. He feels insulted that these pricks wouldn’t even grant him the dignity of acknowledging his skills.

“Uh...Dean…” Castiel begins, but he is interrupted by the door opening, and a chorus of _Congratulations_ shouted by the people entering the room.

Castiel’s eyes go wide in shock as he stands abruptly, then turns horrified eyes to Dean, whose back is still to the door and its outpouring of office workers.

Dean clenches his jaw and glares at Castiel, before his face changes, a bright grin splitting his face, and the transformation has Castiel’s jaw dropping, speechless, as Dean turns towards the people piling in behind Castiel’s brother Gabriel, who is holding a gaudy pink monstrosity of a cake, with a groom and groom decoration.

Inwardly, Dean grimaces in irritation. But he’s a true professional and he knows the role he’s supposed to play, the loving newly-wedded husband of one Castiel Novak. He senses Castiel moving behind him, and as he comes up to Dean, he hesitates. Dean hooks his arm in Castiel’s, ignoring the no-doubt shocked face of his husband as he goes forward to shake hands and accept their wishes.

Before they know it, a short brunette, who turns out to be Castiel’s secretary, Hannah, brings in champagne and suddenly there is an impromptu party happening right here in Castiel’s office which, _how?_

Dean watches as Castiel accepts his employees’ and colleagues’ wishes, in between surreptitiously eyeing Dean, worried. But Dean pretends to be enjoying himself, mingling with everyone, getting introduced and being the general life of the party. Dean has managed to negotiate the impossible deals, sometimes with just his smile and get ‘em attitude. A bunch of office employees is no match.

He sees Castiel pull Hannah aside, and by his gestures, it looks like he’s telling her to have the car ready. Dean feels grateful for Castiel’s thoughtfulness. He has no desire to stick around after this.

Castiel catches Gabe’s eye, signaling to him to put an end to this _right now_. Gabe rolls his eyes, but thankfully, complies, when in a loud booming voice he announces to the room, “Okay everyone. Get back to your desks, the lovebirds need to go gather some honey, if you know what I mean…” he finishes with a gaudy over-exaggerated wink.

Amidst raucous laughter, Castiel’s office finally empties of people until it’s just him and Dean again, and before either of them can say anything, Hannah announces that the car is ready so they make their way down.

In the car, Castiel hesitantly broaches the subject of their earlier conversation, “Um, Dean. About the cards…” he turns his head to look at Dean, “they don’t have a title or a department because I thought you might like to be the one to choose that.”

“So you’re saying you’re giving me carte blanche on what  I wanna do?” Dean scoffs. As if he ever has a choice in anything concerning his life.

Castiel shrugs, “Angeles is a diverse conglomerate. I know you have specific skills but I would rather you had the option of choosing where you wanted to apply them. This way, you aren’t tied or slotted into a role you might not want and you can look at the various businesses and their functions before you choose.”

“Huh” is all Dean can say, remaining silent for the rest of the ride to the townhouse.

In all his life, no one has ever cared for Dean wants. Except maybe Benny. But here this man is, doing small thoughtful things, despite how coldly Dean’s been behaving towards him. For a moment, Dean feels ashamed. Yes, Castiel is the root of Dean’s current misery, but maybe, just maybe, he isn’t the cause of it.

 

 

Later that night, Castiel is in his bedroom, replying to some emails on his laptop when Dean knocks on his door.

“Castiel?”

Castiel nearly drops his laptop off the bed in his haste to stand up, so that when Dean pushes the door open, he is still standing awkwardly, his laptop clutched between his knees. “Ye..yes. Hello, Dean.”

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Dean asks, “Outside?”

“Uh..yeah. Yeah. Sure...uhm, just let me…”, he places the laptop carefully on the bed and gestures for Dean to lead the way.

In the kitchen, Dean pulls out a chair and sits, his fingers drumming nervously on the table.

Castiel is anxious about where this is going, “Would...would you like a beer...or…”

“Yeah, a beer would be good. Thanks.”

Castiel retrieves two cold bottles from the fridge, opening them and passing one to Dean.

“What is it, Dean?”

Dean peels a corner of the label on his beer with a fingernail, pinching his lip nervously between his teeth, before he looks up and into Castiel’s eyes, “Look, I...I’m sorry. My attitude...my behavior has been awful these past few days. I know that. And yet”, he rubs a hand across the back of his neck, “I walked into this marriage of my own free will. No one pressured me to do it, and it’s not fair to you that I take out my anger at the situation on you. I just… I want to tell you that I’m gonna try, okay? Be a better….partner, I guess. A better husband. Hell! A better person.”

Castiel is mesmerized by the prolonged eye contact. He has never before felt the full impact of those green eyes, and he can only whisper, “Dean…”

Dean holds up a hand to stop him, “No. Let me finish. I may never… I won’t ever be able to love you. Like you said, we are too different, and I don’t have any love to give, but if...if you want, and if you can be patient, I can learn to be your friend.”

Castiel feels frozen in his spot, his blood still as ice in his veins. His eyes drop to his hands, lest Dean see the raw pain in them. This is his worst nightmare coming true. The man he loves, has loved since forever doesn’t think he is good enough. Doesn’t think _he_ is enough. He pinches his nose to stem the burning in his eyes, before he adjusts his expression and looks up, face devoid of his heartbreak, “I don’t know… I don’t know what your definition of love is, Dean. But for me, love has always been something that happens to other people. What I do know is that you are a good man, a great man, Dean, and I would be honored to have you as a friend.”

Dean smiles, a small pleased one, “Thank you.”

“No, Dean. Thank _you_. It was wonderful how you reacted in the presence of my colleagues and employees today. You could have chosen to humiliate me, but you didn’t, in fact, I think at least half of them are already completely enamored by you.” He smiles, shaking his head and mutters, “I completely understand how they feel.”

“What was that?”  

“Uh..nothing. Once again, thank you.”

Dean drains the last of his beer, standing up, “Okay, that’s enough chick flick moments to last me a decade. I’m gonna head to bed. Good night, Cas.” and he goes upstairs.

Castiel sits there wondering, despite all the nicknames he’s been called in his life, why Dean saying “Cas” feels so right.

The next morning, when Castiel comes down to the kitchen, his jaw drops. Dean is dressed for work, but the table is laid out with a full breakfast, bacon and eggs, orange juice.

“Morning, Sunshine”, he greets as he turns around from the coffee machine, holding out a mug, “Here. I didn’t know how you take it, but the sugar and cream’s on the table.”

Castiel is too busy staring at this version of Dean, one that has never graced Cas with his presence before.

“Sit down”, Dean points with one finger, “and if you’re gonna keep your mouth open, you might as well shovel some food into it.”

“Ye...yes”, Cas stumbles, hastily cramming a forkful of eggs in his mouth, “of course.” He is unable to stop the moan that escapes, his eyes closing in pleasure at the delicious flavor. When he opens them again, an embarrassed flush heating the tips of his ears, he finds it reflected on the sharp contours of Dean’s face, who turns back towards the coffee machine, probably embarrassed by Castiel’s inappropriate behavior.

 

 

 


	6. Ludus: Playful Love

_We are only as blind as we want to be._

_~Maya Angelou_

 

Dean can’t believe how easy it is, now that he is forcing himself to be civil. Castiel’s easy generosity, his seemingly small gestures for Dean’s comfort make it easier to allow Castiel in, even if his initial purpose for the civility had been to smooth things over until he’s ready to bail on this marriage.

The first time Dean goes into work, he is confused as Cas leads him to an empty office, which surprisingly is fitted out exactly the way Dean like it.

“This...is this mine? I get my own office?”

“Of course Dean”, Cas grins, “a little birdy told me you don’t like sharing.”

“Pfft! Little birdy. It was a giant moose, wasn’t it? I can see his muddy paws all over this!” Dean isn’t sure how he feels about Cas and Sam interacting, but then they do have a business relationship of sorts as well, and if he’s being honest, the fact that Cas would consult Sam when setting out an office for Dean is just….yeah.

“Moose have hooves, Dean, not paws.” Cas is looking fondly at him, and Dean has to turn away from his intense gaze. He stomach is doing funny things, and there’s a warmth in his chest he’s never felt before.

“Yeah, yeah, shut it, Einstein.” He grumbles as he runs a hand over the surface of the desk, so similar to his own back in Kansas. “So….” He sits down in the comfortable ergonomic chair and fiddles with the settings to adjust to his requirements, “what am I meant to be doing in here?”

Cas takes a seat opposite him, crossing his legs as he leans back. “Well, like I said yesterday, I thought you might like a chance to get an overview of the different business areas in the group and then choose where you feel you would like to be. The relevant files are already loaded onto your personal drive, so you can access them either here or on your laptop. Hannah, my assistant, will give you your access codes and passwords. Of course, you may interview for an assistant of your own whenever you want.”

Dean nods as he bites his lip, thinking. “If it’s alright with you, I would like to offer the position to my assistant, Max, first. He already knows how I work, and I’d feel more comfortable with someone I know rather than having to build that relationship again.”

“By all means, Dean.” Cas leans forward sincerely, “I meant it when I said it’s your choice.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll talk to Max today. What...what kind of package am I allowed to offer him?”

“You can talk to Gabe about that if you like, he handles the HR. Although, I doubt he’d contradict whatever you felt necessary or appropriate to get Max here.”

“Cool, thanks! Is it alright if Hannah handles my stuff as well until that is sorted?”

“Of course. I’ll let her know. I’ll leave you to familiarise yourself with everything,” Cas says as he gets up to leave, “if you need me, my extension is 5001. I’ve instructed Hannah to leave my schedule clear for the next couple of days, so if you have any questions, feel free to ask.”

“Will do. Can you ask Hannah to come help me with setting this up?” Dean waves a hand at the desktop Mac and his laptop.

Cas nods, “Sure. I’ll send her in.” He hesitates at the door before he turns back, “I hope…never mind. Have a good day, Dean.”  

Dean taps his fingers on the desk, waiting for Hannah, so he can get started. He really hopes Max will accept his offer. He resolves to check in with Gabe about the benefits for personal assistants before he does anything though. No point in ruffling feathers before he’s even started working here.

Over the next few days, Dean is kept busy going through the enormous load of information about Angeles subsidiaries.

Currently, Dean is studying the history of their primary business which is shipping and logistics. At any given point in time, they have at least fifty container ships of their fleet on the water. But apparently, the company used to have a much larger fleet of nearly three hundred ships until Castiel started taking over the reins from Chuck. He pushed for reducing the fleet size, getting rid of the older vessels which left environmental destruction in their wake and streamlining their fleet to more modern eco-friendly versions. From what Dean could see, the older members of the board were strongly opposed to this move, fearing that the reduced fleet size would result in smaller profits, and therefore, smaller dividends in their bank accounts. Castiel fought until he won, which yeah, surprises Dean. Even more shocking is the fact that Castiel then worked with the marketing department to run lucrative campaigns offering carbon offsets and carbon neutrality, and their profits _increased._

Dean leans back in his chair, stretching his neck and back. Thinking about Castiel as Dean sees him, he finds it hard to reconcile with the one he’s reading about. The scrappy little man who looks like a rumpled accountant seems to hide a fierce rebel who knows how to fight his battles.

He is reluctantly impressed.

On the home front, things are slightly different. Castiel stays out of Dean’s way unless Dean himself initiates a conversation. They do fall into an easy routine though, taking turns cooking and doing general household chores. Dean catches glimpses of Cas’ personality through their interactions, as one does when living in close quarters with another person. He notices how Cas is a grumpy mess before at least two cups of coffee in the morning. Or how he religiously goes for a run in the evenings, no matter how tiring his day has been. Dean _absolutely_ _doesn’t_ notice the way his t-shirt clings to his sweat-soaked skin, or how his running shorts hug his ass as he climbs the staircase up to his room to shower. How he scrupulously arranges stuff in his home office, which Dean now shares, but is notoriously unkempt about his personal stuff. His tan trench coat is usually dumped unceremoniously wherever he removes it, be it the entrance hallway, or draped over the back of the couch. Despite the number of times Dean makes it a point to hang it up in the closet, Cas doesn’t seem to get the hint. This annoys the hell out of Dean, who is a neatness freak to the point of being OCD. And yet, every time Dean finds that stupid ugly-ass coat, he can’t suppress the fond smile that tugs his lips as he picks it up. In its own way, it’s oddly comforting.

One random Saturday, as they’re having a late-ish breakfast, Dean is talking about Charlie and the Princess Leia tattoo she got at a comic-con. All he gets from Cas is a puzzled frown and a curious head-tilt.

“Dude!” Dean flicks his fork towards Cas, “Princess Leia! Gold bikini? _Star Wars?!_ ”

“I don’t understand that reference, Dean.” Cas raises his eyebrows sardonically.

“Oh my God! How have you never watched Star Wars, man?”

“I don’t know, Dean, I’m not a big fan of the movies.”

“Blasphemy! I tell you, blasphemy. Now I know why I was sent in your life. The universe needed to correct this gross imbalance.”

Cas rolls his eyes, “Stop being so melodramatic. What’s so great about Star Wars anyway?”

When Deans presses play on the first DVD, “This is stupid! Why are we watching the fourth movie first? Wouldn't it make more sense to start at the beginning?”

“Just shut up and watch, Cas!” Dean rolls his eyes.

He can’t help but watch Cas as he loses himself, staring unblinkingly at the TV screen. He seems to be one of those people whose face reflects the emotions of the drama unfolding on the screen, his expression undergoing tiny variations as the movie plays on.

His face lights up when Han returns to save the day in _A New Hope_ : “I knew Han Solo wasn’t just a cynical money grabbing mercenary!”

After _The Empire Strikes Back_ , he clutches Dean’s arm as he bounces on the sofa, “Darth is Luke’s father? _Darth_ is Luke’s _father_?”

Dean rolls his eyes, amazed that Cas doesn’t know this, “Cas, everyone knows that. Even people who have never watched Star Wars know that.”

After two minutes, he can’t resist poking a finger into Cas’ shoulder: “ _Dead people_ know that.”

He grins as Cas swats at his hand, “Ow!!!

Cas pouts, grumpy, and Dean really shouldn’t find it _adorable_.  “Stop pouting, you big baby! Actually, unborn children know that. It’s like genetic knowledge now, man!”

It’s midnight, and they’ve just finished the first movie when Dean says, “Okay, I’m beat. You wanna continue this tomorrow?”

Castiel squints threateningly at him, “Don’t you dare! Shut up and play the next movie, Dean.”

And so goes the rest of their weekend.

It becomes a weekly ritual without Dean noticing. Since the Star Wars marathon, every weekend Dean and Castiel hang out together. Usually, they watch one of the many movies Dean insists are “classic” and “awesome”. Sometimes, Castiel is able to convince Dean to watch a documentary with him.

Dean always growls and gripes, but secretly enjoys the way Cas talks passionately on whatever subject the documentary is about. From bees and extinction to animal testing ( _How important is lipstick to you, Dean?_ ) to when they were watching something on cats and Cas came up with _Did you know that a cat's penis is sharply barbed along its shaft? I wonder if the females were consulted about that;_ which made Dean sputter and choke on his beer. It wasn’t until he caught Cas grinning that he realized the devious bastard had planned _exactly_ when to unleash that little gem.

“Hmmm… spiders. What about you?” Castiel says as he rolls his head up from where it rests on the arm of the couch, his crossed legs sprawled lazily across its length.

“Me? I’m not scared of anything!” Dean protests, eyes wide, mirroring Cas’ position on the opposite end of the couch. He is well on his way to pleasantly buzzed in their drinking game, a made-up version somewhere between Twenty Questions and Truth or Dare.

“C’mon Dean, everyone is scared of _something_!”

“Not me. I’m Batman!” He shoots finger guns as he winks exaggeratedly.

“Yeah yeah, Bruce Wayne. Spill, or take a shot.” Cas nudges Dean in the hip with a socked foot.

“I’ll take the shot.” Dean takes a mouthful of the excellent whiskey they’re making short work of, wincing at the pleasant burn it creates in his throat, “my turn. When was your first time?”

“First time what?” Cas tilts his head, a puzzled frown scrunching his eyebrows

“You know…” Dean waggles his eyebrows suggestively, “ _First_ time you...?”

Cas colors at the suggestion, “Oh. Um...I’ll take the shot.” He mumbles, reaching for the bottle.

Dean pulls the bottle out of his reach, “Nuhuh. Not an option, hotshot. Answer the question.”

Cas runs a hand at the back of his neck, looking away from Dean, “Uh…”

“You have been with someone before, right?” Dean bends his head to catch his eyes.

Cas looks away, shifty, as he bites the corner of his bottom lip.

Dean straightens up from where he is leaning against the armrest, trying to keep a straight face. “You mean to tell me you’ve never...you know...sowed your wild oats?”

Cas rolls his eyes at that, “It’s called sex, Dean. And no, I’ve never had occasion, okay?”

Dean holds his hands out in defense, “Okay. Touchy touchy! But seriously, dude! You can’t tell me no-one’s ever tried to get it on with you. I mean, even if you weren’t _the_ Castiel Novak, those freakishly blue eyes of yours could make anyone swoon.”

Cas mouth quirks up at one corner, small and sad, “That’s just it, though. I could never be sure if they wanted _me_ or Castiel Novak, heir to the Angeles Empire.” He shrugs, “So I didn’t even try.”

Dean looks at him and all he sees is sincerity and maybe a wistfulness in Cas’ expression. Perhaps Dean had been too hasty in judging him. If the man had never even used his position to get laid, then maybe he couldn’t be the spoilt brat who asked Chuck to propose a marriage in return for the Winchester deal.

They trade a few more details, about their likes, dislikes, and youths.

It’s on one of these weekends that Dean discovers (quite painfully) that Castiel is fucking great at poker. Dean knows he is awesome at reading faces, but Cas has no tells, his expression remains stoic and blank no matter what hand he is dealt. After losing a few hundred dollars, Dean is drunk enough to suggest a final double or nothing round.

“Rock, Paper, Scissors?” asks Dean, holding his hands in readiness.

Cas narrows his eyes, “I want better stakes, Dean, I don’t need more money.”

Dean rolls his eyes, “Okay, then. What do you _need_?”

“Information. If I win, I get to ask you one question.”

“Sucker!” Dean crows, as he shakes his fist and throws scissors, only to raise his hands in frustration. “Damn it! Alright, whaddaya wanna know?”

“Hmmm… I must use this power wisely”, Cas taps a finger on his stubbled chin. “Okay, tell me something you’ve never told anyone before.”

Dean waits for just the right moment when Cas raises his beer to take a drink, “Rhonda Hurley. I was, uh, nineteen. She made me try on her panties. They were pink. And satiny. And you know what? I kind of liked it.

Castiel stares at him, his eyes full of something very much like desire, the droplets of his sprayed beer still clinging to his chin, and Dean can’t help but stare right back. Cas’ tongue darts out to lick the beer off this lip. Dean unconsciously mimics the movement and watches Cas’ eyes dart down to his lips.

Dean realises how close they suddenly are when he feels Cas’ breath on his face. Flustered, he rears back, picking up a cushion and shoving it at Cas’ head to break the spell, “Stop imagining it, you... pervert!” he laughs, awkward.

Cas just blinks between him and the cushion, dazed. “Wh..what?! I wasn’t…”

“Whatever you wanna tell yourself, asshole,” Dean stands up, swaying a bit to get his balance, “Imma go to bed now.”

“Uh..y..yes. Me too.” Castiel scrambles up the staircase after him, pausing at his bedroom door to wish a mumbled “Goodnight, Dean.” before ducking inside.

 

 

Dean begins to forget about the email he sent Benny, outlining his plan to annul the marriage once the deal is complete.

 

 

It’s close to two months since their marriage when Castiel is interrupted by Dean walking into his office.

“Cas, Sam just called. Heller’s made a move. Sam wants to confirm that we’re okay to invoke the shareholder rights on Pergatia.”

After Dean finished going through the company’s various departments, he was still unsure where he wanted to start. To make it easier for Dean, Castiel had suggested that as his first role Dean head the representation talks with Winchester Associates. Dean had argued that him leading the discussions would likely draw criticism for conflict-of-interest from the rest of the board, but Castiel had reassured him that it was an advantage. After all, who better than Dean could suggest the best use of Winchester’s services and where Angeles needed them. Since then Dean had been the go-between between Winchester and Angeles. The board members were surprised at how ethically he ran the negotiations, never once giving in to a proposal if it didn’t benefit Angeles, but also never using his inside knowledge of Winchester to gain an advantage. Castiel, on the other hand, never even blinked. He always knew Dean could be trusted, and if he grinned smugly during the entire board meeting, it was nobody’s business but his own.

“Yes, Dean, give him the go ahead. Also, can you tell him to do whatever it takes to thwart the take over?” Castiel wrinkles his nose in distaste, “I really don’t like Zachariah.”

Dean grins, wide-eyed, “Well, thank you, your highness. We can certainly try.”

“Dean”, Cas says flatly, “Do or do not, there is no try.”

Dean bursts out laughing, throwing his head back, exposing the long column of his throat, “Man, my work here is _done_.”

Castiel finds himself grinning broadly for the rest of the day.

As he tries to focus on what he was doing before Dean came in, he can’t help but think about his husband. These days, Dean’s smiles have changed. They are no longer the fake bright grins which barely reached his eyes. No, now, his smiles are smaller but his eyes shine brighter with a fondness Castiel hopes may yet see them becoming something else. Something more than friends.

It’s not just the smiles. Dean himself has become more relaxed in his presence. In the beginning, Dean seemed to tense up when Castiel walked into a room, whether at work or at home. Now, there is a loose familiarity with which Dean greets him, and recently, Castiel finds himself reaching out to touch Dean: on the shoulder in reassurance, on the back in support. He never actually does it of course. Dean had been quite clear when he said he couldn’t ever love him, and Castiel is not about to make the mistake of upsetting this middle ground they have found. This comfortable space that is their own. Still, he does tend to veer closer into his husband’s aura, unconsciously seeking the warmth of his personality and yes, he might as well admit, the heat of his body. It may be his imagination, but sometimes Castiel feels he isn’t alone in this either. There have been times when Dean seems to swing close to him while walking or watching TV, times when Castiel catches an aborted hand movement at the edge of his vision. Small inconsequential gestures that may or may not mean Dean is beginning to feel… but no. It has to be his imagination, _right_?

Shaking his head to clear his fantasies of Dean, Castiel gets back to work. Random Acts, the non-profit charity organization he ran with his best friend Meg, is looking to organize aid to a group of people affected by the genocide in Rwanda. Meg has been talking to a photo-journalist, Giles Duley, whose heroic work first shed light on the condition of the refugees there. In her email, she has included a list of points that require attention, one of which is using the clout Angeles has to push through the required paperwork in the war-torn country, where administration is a corrupt blackhole gobbling up the millions  of dollars of aid western countries and humanitarian organizations like their own are pouring in.

Maybe this is one of the first jobs the Winchesters can do for them. Pave the way and set up systems so that the money reaches the correct hands rather than the pockets of corrupt politicians.

Cas leans back in his chair, thinking about how Sam Winchester, with his background in International Law, would be the most appropriate person to lead this effort.

When Sam had approached Castiel all those months ago to discuss the Pergatia takeover, Castiel had been nervous about meeting him. He was, after all _Dean Winchester_ ’s brother. Castiel unreasonably felt as if Sam would take one look at Castiel, and _know_ how he felt about his brother. It was a ridiculous notion, of course, and Castiel had come away from the meeting impressed by the man. He was intelligent and soft-spoken, yet firm and resolute about what he wanted. Castiel had also seen a kindred spark of humanitarian spirit in the younger Winchester’s kind hazel eyes.

Yes, he decided, Sam Winchester was definitely the right man for the job. He would speak to Meg first, of course, but decided to broach the subject with Dean immediately if Meg was agreeable to his idea.

 

 

It is entirely by accident that Dean finds out about Meg.  This is how it happens.

Cas always comes home late on Thursdays, something Dean has never really questioned, assuming the man works later than usual.

One Thursday, however, he himself is held up on a conference call, so he decides to pop into Cas’ office to ask if he wants a ride home. Rounding the corner to Cas’ office, he sees the lights inside the cubicle are  off, with only Hannah at her desk out front.

Surprised, Dean asks, “Hey, Hannah. Where’s Cas?”

She looks away from her computer, “Oh. Castiel already left. It’s Thursday.”

“Yeah I know it’s Thursday, that’s when he usually works late.”

Now Hannah looks uncomfortable, and when she speaks, Dean finds out why “Um...no. On Thursday Castiel usually leaves after lunch.”

 _Wait, what?_ If Castiel leaves early on Thursday but doesn’t get home until late, what the hell is he doing in the hours in between? When he thinks about it, it sounds very much like...

As Dean thanks Hannah and leaves, he is mortified to realize something hot and slimy curl in his stomach at the thought of Castiel having an affair. Objectively, he knows he can’t blame Castiel, after all, it’s not as if their marriage is in any way, shape or form, a _real_ one. And Castiel has to get his jollies _somewhere_. Still, he never pegged Cas as a cheater.  

By the time Dean makes his way back to his house, he has worked himself up to a rage. Granted, theirs isn’t a real marriage. But still, they stood before an officiant and said their vows, and Dean has been making an effort to get along with Cas. Hell, he thought they were growing closer. But maybe it was just his imagination or his own confused feelings. After all, he still loves Benny, doesn’t he? Of course, he does.  Then why does the possibility of Castiel being with somebody else, every week like clockwork, make his stomach twist unpleasantly. His chest feels like it’s on fire and Dean unconsciously massages a hand over his heart He’s not _jealous_. Really, he’s just angry, that’s all.

He continues fuming well into the evening, even after he reaches home.

There are about four empty beer bottles lined up on the coffee table, and he’s halfway through his fifth when Cas gets home.

“Hello Dean,” Cas greets when he enters. He doesn’t notice Dean’s silence as he removes his coat and hangs it up in the doorway closet.

Dean glares at him, anger bubbling just beneath the surface, “Well, well. Mr. Would-I-Lie-To-You returns. Where were you?” He sneers, placing one leg on the coffee table, “Let me rephrase that. Where the _hell_ were you?”

Cas tilts his head in confusion, “I don’t...are you _drunk_?”

“No, Pinocchio, I’m not _drunk_. Now answer the goddamned question.”

“I was out, Dean,” Cas rolls his eyes as he removes his shoes, “you know I come late every Thursday.”

“With who?”

“With Meg. Wait...you sound...angry?! Why?”

“Why?!” Dean straightens up, slamming his beer bottle on the coffee table, making the other bottles rattle, “I thought you worked late on thursdays, man. I didn’t realise you were out…”

“Dean.” Cas comes around and sits on the couch next  to Dean, “Where did you _think_ I was?”

“I just...look, I know we’re not...If you’re…” Dean looks away, horrified that his eyes are stinging.

“I don't even know what you mean, Dean.” He rests his elbows on his  knees as he hangs his head.

“Look at me, Cas. Just level with me and tell me what's going on. Look me in the eye and tell me you're not...that you’re having an affair.” Dean doesn’t realise how pleading his voice sounds.

Cas looks at him, eyes wide in shock, “An affair?!! You think I’m...with _Meg_?!”

“Aren’t you?”

Cas shakes his head, “No Dean.” He places his hand on Dean’s shoulder, looking into his eyes, “I am not having an affair with Meg...or anyone, for that matter.”

“Then why the hell would you hide it from me? Hell, even Hannah didn’t know where you were and she knows everything.”

“Hannah doesn’t know because this is something I do for myself.  I wasn’t hiding anything from _you_. I just didn’t think you’d be interested. You never asked.”

“Well, I’m asking now!”

“Okay. So, Meg. She’s one of my oldest friends.”

Dean listens, feeling increasingly embarrassed as Cas talks about his friend and their childhood antics that never really stopped. After Cas returned from Harvard, they teamed up once again to continue their drive to improve the world, one random act of kindness at a time - all  of which started with the one act of buying a classmate a raincoat.

“Now, Meg is the Executive Director of a non-profit organisation I funded.” Cas smiles fondly, “We called it Random Acts. If you want, I can show you the work we have done, are doing, globally. Although, Meg still insists on going out and personally doing something at least once a week. So, we do that every Thursday. Today, we were at the Texas Children’s Hospital. We funded a playroom for the kids there, so we go there and spend time with the kids, talk to the staff if they need more equipment or materials, stuff like that”

Dean sits there, feeling like a heel. Every time he has doubted Cas, doubted his intentions, the man surprises him. “I’m...I’m sorry, Cas. I shouldn’t have…”

Cas places a hand on his arm, “No, Dean. I’m sorry. I should have told you where I was.”

“Nah, man. I got no right to ask you, I know. It’s just that…” Dean looks away, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck.

“Of course you do, Dean. You _are_ my husband.” Cas chides him gently.

Dean rolls his eyes in exasperation, “Yeah, and what a stellar job I’m doing.” He scoffs.

Cas moves his hand from his arm to his shoulder, “Dean. Look at me, please?” He waits until Dean turns towards him, looking intently into his eyes. Dean is held captive in the deep blue intensity of it as Cas says, “You are. What makes you think otherwise?”

“C’mon, Cas! I don’t… We haven’t…. ” Dean runs a hand through the hair at his temple, “We don’t even  share a _room_ . You can’t tell me that’s what you expected of this marriage. Hell, that’s not even close to what _I_ thought this marriage would be!”

“What did you think this marriage would entail, Dean? That I would enforce conjugal rights on you? That I would….” Cas shakes his head, “I have not hidden how I feel about you, Dean. And you too, have been honest with me. I accept that. I accept that you are unable to love me in that way.”

“What the fuck, man?!” Dean stands up, unable to stay still. He paces the room, needs an outlet for the pent-up frustration he feels, at what he doesn’t know. At Cas’ calm acceptance of the situation, at his own inability to understand how his feelings have been changing. While Dean no longer thinks of him as the selfish guy who pointed to Dean saying _I like that one_ and his Daddy made sure he got him, does Cas really know what love is?

He whirls towards Cas, “How can you just… you haven’t even tried to kiss me!   _Love?_ Ha! Let me tell you about love. Love is your heart beating faster when the person you love walks into a room. Butterflies go crazy in your stomach when….” He cuts himself off, swallowing the words building up in his head. He shakes his head, “Don’t you feel _anything_? Are you for real?” He ends up asking in despair.

In the blink of an eye Cas is standing before him, mere inches between them, “I assure you, Dean, I am very real.” He places his hands on either side of Dean’s face, and it’s the closest he’s ever been. Dean is suddenly extremely aware of Cas’ presence, where his fingers brush the line of his jaw, the thumbs caressing just under his cheekbones. Very softly, Cas says, “You cannot possibly believe that I’m not attracted to you, Dean. That if given the chance, I wouldn’t worship every inch of you,” he leans impossibly close, his breath brushing Dean’s lips, “to be granted the honor of touching you.” He abruptly drops his hands and takes a step back, and Deans feels a shiver run down his spine, “But that is my cross to bear. I want all of you, Dean, not just your body. And if that means I have none of you, then so be it.”

Dean watches, his jaw hanging open stupidly, as Cas turns abruptly and strides out of the room. _Wow!_ Just...wow! That was goddam _hot_!

His heart is thundering in his chest, the blood pumping loud as drums in his ears. Where the fuck has Cas been hiding this side of himself, all the fire and passion that he hides beneath that fucking cool exterior? He plonks down heavily on the couch, running a hand through his hair.

  
His head is a mess, a jumble of emotions: arousal, amazement, shock. And above all, _confusion_ . Was he jealous? And _why_?

 

 


	7. Agape: Selfless Love

_Relationships are based on four principles: respect, understanding, acceptance and appreciation._

_~Mahatma Gandhi_

   

 

Castiel sits at Dean’s desk, his hands clutching the hair at his temples.

He should have known, god dammit. It was too good to last.

Despite their rocky beginning and their tentative friendship since, Castiel had allowed himself to believe that this was working. In the past few months since Dean came to Houston, he was sure he caught glimpses of respect in Dean’s eyes, especially when they were working side by side. Dean even smiled at his lame jokes, and that one time he laughed outright when Castiel showed him a resume he had written in high school.

He had been wrong, obviously. And the proof is in front of him.

He rubs the heels of his palms into his stinging eyes. God, how had he been so blind, so love struck as to not have seen it? The heat he thought he saw in Dean’s eyes was just him projecting his own deluded emotions, the fondness and affection that of a _friend_ , not a husband.

If only he hadn’t asked Dean for the Pergatia file while he was out of the office. If only Dean had asked him to wait until his return instead of casually giving his password for Castiel to print it from his computer. And if only, fuck, if only Dean had labeled the file “Personal” instead of  “Pergatia 2”. At least then, Castiel would have steered clear of the file, instead of printing it without even reading its contents until after.

At least then, Castiel would have been spared this… this… he doesn’t even know what to call it. Is it cheating if it has been going on since before he and Dean even met properly? Is it betrayal? And what is he to do about it?

That is the question now.

It is clear from Dean’s “correspondence” with Lafitte that he only agreed to this marriage because he believed, however mistakenly, that it would affect the deal with Winchester Associates. Worse still, that he is biding his time until the deal is finalised in a few weeks to file for an annulment.  

Castiel doesn’t know how many hours he spends at the office, trying to come up with a solution.

But finally he has made his decision, and he will put the plan in action tomorrow by talking to his family.

“Are you out of your fucking mind, Cassie?” Gabriel is furious, he wants to shake some sense into his little brother, who is sitting calmly in their dad’s office. “You...you want to take your husband to meet his estranged lover?

“Gabriel, calm down. Let Castiel speak.” Chuck admonishes his older son, “Go on, son.”

“Dad, Dean was... _is_ in love with somebody else. He only agreed to this marriage because he thought we would back out of the Winchester contract if he refused.”

“Okay, I get that. But Castiel, he has been working with you, living with you, for the past two months. I have seen how he looks at you, with respect, with affection.”

“Dean was very clear about the nature of our relationship, Dad. He told me that he could never love me, that all he could offer was friendship.”

“But Cassie, he _married_ you, willingly.”

“Gabe, giving consent is not the same as willing. Do you really want your brother to be stuck in this marriage, knowing Dean will never love me, that he loves somebody else?”

“Castiel," Chuck interjects, "if this is what you truly believe, I won’t stop you. I trust you. But I would still advice talking to Dean before you take any step.” 

“Mahatma Gandhi said “The truth is not only truthfulness in word but truthfulness in thought also” Cas smiles at his father. He wonders why he doesn’t feel sadder, more dejected. After all, his life is crumbling around his feet, but all he feels is a sense of contentment, of inner peace, now that he has made the choice to let Dean go. “And the truth is, when I married Dean, I took a vow to give him every happiness, to love and cherish him, for better or for worse. Do you really think I should give up that truth just because the outcome falls in the ‘worse’ category?”

“God, Cassie. Stop quoting idealistic books!” Gabe exclaims, pacing across their dad’s office, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation, “This is real life.”

“The man who wrote that book gained freedom from four hundred years of British oppression based on those “ideals”, Gabe. For an entire nation. It is the closest application of the principle in real life you could find.”

“Yeah bro, it’s all very well to spout ideals and big literary words sitting in this plush office.” Gabe squints at Cas, leaning a hand on the desk, “But do you really think you’ll be able to bear that moment when you see Dean run into the arms of his lover? When you see him let you go? The man you have loved since you were a young nerdy little college kid?”

“Castiel” Chuck holds up a hand to silence Gabe, “while I wouldn’t put it exactly in those words, Gabe does have a point. You have been in love with Dean for a long time. How can I be sure you’ll come out unscathed on the other side of this?”

“I can’t. In fact, I know how painful it is going to be. But his smile, his joy will be enough for me to get over my pain.” Cas gets up from his seat, placing a hand on Gabe’s shoulder, “What I will need then, brother, is your support. Can I count on you for that, Gabe?”

Gabe whirls around, hugging Cas tightly, “But you love him so much Cassie!” He mutters into his brother’s shoulder.

Cas squeezes him, leaning his chin on his brother’s shoulder, “Love need not be selfish, Gabe. Love should mean being happy because the person you  love is happy, and if at all possible, be the reason for that happiness.”

“Curse you, Cassie!” Gabe sniffles, “why do you have to have so much heart?!” He says, wiping his eyes.

Cas laughs, a soft sad thing.

“Castiel” Chuck comes around his desk, placing one hand on each of his sons, “I knew, from the moment you first ran away to help that kitten, that you would always run to save people. The world may know you as a good businessman and my heir, but one day they will know you as the righteous man that you are.”

And that’s how they stand, a father and his two sons, each drawing comfort from the other.

 

 

“H...Honeymoon?! What do you mean?” Dean asks as he stirs the pasta sauce he’s making for dinner, perplexed at this sudden turn of events.

“I was talking to my friend Balthazar yesterday. He couldn’t attend our wedding due to having relocated recently. He pointed out that it was quite remiss of me not to have thought about it sooner. He has invited us to spend a couple of weeks with him, and I thought this might be a nice opportunity for us to spend some time with each other, without the pressures of work or… or _family_.”

“While I would jump at the chance to get away from your brother, I have too much work here. The Winchester contract is about to be finalised, Sammy’s coming to sign the papers in two weeks. I can’t just leave that hanging, Cas.” Dean counters.

In reality, Dean is panicking. This can’t be happening. He is too close to the end. He has been counting the days, working long hours to make sure the Novak-Winchester deal goes through without any hiccups. He remembers the reason why he wanted to be free of this marriage when he thought it was a sham, it’s not like he has forgotten. Since the Pergatia takeover fiasco, which they successfully thwarted thanks to Cas, he and Benny have even been talking and texting. Although Benny has made an attempt to discuss the email Dean sent all those weeks ago, Dean has skirted around the issue every time.  

In the months since their marriage, Castiel has chipped away at Dean’s resentment without even trying. Castiel has a snarky, sarcastic side to him that is rarely displayed in a social setting, and Dean finds himself laughing at his deadpan humour before he realises it. Dean’s first opinion of him being a spoilt brat has long since crumbled to dust. Working alongside Cas, Dean has found him to be kind and considerate. He is always empathetic to his employees’ (who _adore_ him, by the way) yet fierce and kinda badass in his business dealings. Unlike a lot of rich folks, he gives not just his money but his time to the charities close to his heart, sometimes spending entire weekends at orphanages or children’s hospitals.

Dean is fast discovering that his reluctance to speak to Benny about his emotionally written email stems not just from his reluctance to break Castiel’s heart but also because Dean himself is beginning to doubt what he felt for Benny then. Is it just Castiel’s proximity that is causing Dean to question himself? Is it because he hasn’t seen Benny in so long? Shouldn’t love withstand a seperation of a few months? Dean feels trapped, between his developing feelings for Cas and Benny, who is waiting for him on the other end.

He had been hoping for some clarity by the time the Winchester deal was finalised. To be able to think without that sword hanging over his head and influencing his decision. But now Castiel is proposing a fucking honeymoon of all things. He has to put a stop to this right now.

“I know, Dean. I spoke to Sam already. In fact, he helped me plan the trip. And we’ll be back before Sam comes here anyway.”

“Look, Cas, maybe we can go after this is done, yeah? That way we can stay for longer, even.”

“That won’t be a problem, Dean. We have a branch office in LA, so if you are needed you can always work from there.”

“LA? LA as in Los Angeles?” Dean asks incredulously. He would have thought Castiel would name some exotic location like Hawaii or Europe for their honeymoon. But then it strikes him. He has the perfect excuse! “We can’t go to Los Angeles, Cas. I don’t fly!”

“Aah, I… know that.” Castiel smiles shyly, “You told me, even if you don’t remember it. That is why we are driving. It’ll be like a road trip. And you love road trips, right?”

 _Wait a minute!_ _LA. Benny! Why the hell is he fighting this?_ Dean’s mind is whirring with the possibilities. This is, actually, freaking perfect! It’ll give him a chance to see Benny, finally explain to him face-to-face what’s been happening, and maybe, just maybe, come to a decision.

“You’d… you’d do that? Drive for nearly two days when you could fly and get there in a few hours?”

Castiel just shrugs, as if this isn’t a big deal, “You don’t like flying. So we won’t.”

And see, things like this, right here, is why Dean finds himself lov... _liking_ the guy, against his better judgement.

The first surprise is the Impala. Castiel had Baby shipped from freakin’ Kansas for the road trip. His Baby! God how he had missed her, and here she is, in all her black and chrome glory. And whatever anyone may say, he did not spend half an hour sitting inside his car just basking in the smell of her leather seats, lovingly touching every inch of her dashboard.

The second is his taste in music. Dean is ashamed to admit that after living in close quarters for nearly six months, he realises he has never made an effort to know Cas. It has always been Cas asking about Dean, trying to get to know him, but Dean has always been satisfied with what Cas volunteers ot what he learns from his own observation. For example, he would never have guessed that the quiet, reserved man would like anything other than some classical Beethoven or Opera or some frou-frou bullshit like that. To say he is shocked when Cas mouths the lyrics to _Stairway to Heaven_ would be an understatement. And then he _bumps his head_ in time with the music!

And the surprises continue throughout the entire road trip.

The suave millionaire gushes over bacon cheeseburgers at roadside diners. He fucking moans…. _moans_ at the warm pecan pie. Orgasmically. Dean is ashamed to admit, things come... up. Quite unexpectedly.

Then there is the surprise trip to the Miniature Engineering Museum, because apparently Sam has been a fount of information on all things Dean, including his love of tinkering.

Over the nearly three days of driving, Castiel makes an effort to ensure Dean enjoys himself without any pressure of being on display.

Including booking twin rooms instead of a single at their overnight stops.

He never once makes a move beyond friendship. If it hadn’t been for that, Dean might suspect that Cas is trying to get into his pants after months of non-intimate house sharing.

Now, they are only a few of hours outside of Los Angeles, where Castiel has booked a family cabin at the Pioneertown Motel outside of Joshua Tree National Park. Dean would have preferred to drive on to LA, but this is the one thing Castiel seems to have done for himself, and Dean doesn’t have it in him to object.

The motel is all rustic country charm, and Dean is delighted to learn that it was originally built as lodging for the movie stars of old time Westerns. Surrounded by protected lands and rare California flat top mesas, the desert wilderness stretches as far as the eye can see. It is close to late afternoon when they arrive, so after a quick but relaxing shower to wash off the dust and weariness of the drive, he asks Cas what he wants to do.

“Well, I made reservations for dinner at Pappy & Harriet's down the road, if you’re up for it. Otherwise, we can order room service.”

“C’mon Cas! You can’t come all the way here for room service! If you wanna go somewhere, I’m happy to go with you. You obviously want to visit this place, if you’ve made reservations!”

Cas looks embarrassed, “Actually, I believe you might be interested too. Pappy & Harriet’s has a long history. Um… they host musical acts and in the past even Robert Plant has performed here.”

“Plant? Lead-singer-for-Zeppelin Plant?” Dean’s eyes are about to pop out of his head, they’ve gone so wide. He can’t stop the grin spreading across his face, and it is mirrored on Castiel’s face.

All crinkled eyes and gummy smile, Cas nods enthusiastically. “I thought you might like it.”

In his excitement, Dean pulls Cas into his arms in a big squishy hug, “God, I love…” He feels Cas go stiff in his arms and backs away as if stung, realising what he almost said. _What the hell!!_

“....Zeppelin. I… love...Zeppelin. Yeah” He rubs a nervous hand across the back of his neck, the flush rising all the way to the tips of his ears.

They both awkwardly smile at each other before looking away, then Cas clears his throat, “Uhm, yeah. Shall we?” He asks.

Dean can only nod, before grabbing his jacket, exiting the room as Cas locks up behind him.

 

 

When they get to the restaurant, they discover it’s Open Mic night, and it takes very little persuasion to convince Dean to sing in the same venue as his idol, Robert Plant.

Castiel is at their table, close to drunk, thank you very much, while Dean waits for his turn at the mike.

Castiel takes another swig of his beer, cursing his life choices.

He should never have suggested a road trip. What the fuck was he thinking! Being with Dean in the close quarters of the car over the last two days was more intimate than even sharing the house has been. All it has done is make Castiel fall more in love with him, and that is a recipe for heartbreak. Why did he do that? Knowing where he was taking Dean, knowing what the outcome of this trip was going to be, he had still done it, more fool him.

And now he is drowning his sorrows in drink. Could he be more pathetic, really?

Castiel is staring despondently into his drink when he hears Dean at the mike. “Hey, y’all!”

Castiel stares entranced, thinking back to the last time he saw Dean sing, as he starts plucking the strings of the guitar. Castiel closes his eyes to contain the pain as Dean starts to sing the opening stanza.

 

_So glad to meet you, Angeles_

 

The line has his eyes snapping open in shock. Only to find Dean staring straight at him as he sings. Could it be… Is Dean singing at.. about...him?

He sits transfixed, as Dean continues singing, his eyes glued to Castiel’s, like he’s singing only for him.

 

_I can make you satisfied in_

_Everything you do_

_All your secret wishes could right_

_Now be coming true_

_And be forever with my poison arms_

_Around you_

 

_No one's gonna fool around with us_

_No one's gonna fool around with us_

_So glad to meet you, Angeles_

 

Everyone applauds loudly in approval as Dean finishes and walks off the stage but Cas can’t breathe. What does this mean? Is Dean telling him something? God, he’s too drunk for this.

When Dean reaches their table, he’s grinning from ear to ear, his happiness shining like the brightest sunshine. And right now, he is practically glowing. Castiel is blinded, yet he dare not blink.

“What didja think, Cas? How was it?” Dean beams.

Cas can only nod dazedly, “Great, it was… great. You are good.” He breathes.

Dean punches his shoulder lightly before sitting down, “No dude, I’m awesome!”

Castiel agrees wholeheartedly, “Yes. You are.”

Dean narrows his eyes in scrutiny, before his lips pull up in a smirk and he winks at Cas. “Let’s eat, I’m starving!”

 

 

Later, after they’ve eaten, Dean is supporting a very drunk Cas as they walk back to the hotel. He has never seen Cas completely lose his inhibitions like this before, and it's adorable. His features smooth out as that little permanent wrinkle between his eyebrows disappears and relocates at the corners of his eyes as they scrunch up in amusement. His smile is bigger and appears more easily, and often.

It’s not more than a five minute walk to the hotel, but Cas keeps going off track. Dean gave up pulling him back after the first few times. It’s a nice night for a walk anyway.

During the last fifteen minutes, Cas has been mumbling in abstract terms. Something about the stars and constellations, and maybe something about grass. At least he thinks it was about grass, he said green quite a few times.

Cas suddenly turns around to face Dean, stumbling as he tries to walk backwards at the same time, “DEAN! Dean, you...you singood. Yeah you do.”

All of a sudden he bursts out in song, at the top of his voice.

S..SO GLATOOO M...MEET YOUUUU ANGELES

Then he dissolves in a fit of giggles. “I c...can sssssing too, see?”

“Yeah, Cas. You can.” Dean can’t keep the smile off his face.

Cas looks at Dean from under his lashes and grins dopily, “Can I..Can I tell you s..somethin’?”

“Yeah, Cas” Dean says indulgently.

Cas stares at him for a few long moments, before smiling secretly. He waves a hand dismissively, “Nothin’.”

He walks ahead in silence,and Dean follows, lost in thought.

Abruptly, Cas stops, slapping a hand to his forehead. “I forgot! I gotta show you….” He takes Dean’s hand and pulls him off the path, bringing him to a clearing.

“Stars!” He points up, his eyes on the starry sky above them. The moon is but a sliver in the sky, making the stars stand out in abundance. “Dean! There’s so...many! See?” He sits down on the ground, his knees bent in front of him, as he leans back on his hands. He pats the spot beside himself in invitation, and Dean sits, imitating Cas’ pose.

Cas’ gaze is awestruck as he stares up, but Dean can hardly take his eyes off his face. Cas looks ethereal in the starlight. Dean realises he’s sitting close enough that their shoulders are brushing, and he allows himself to relax.

“It’s so....be...bea...beautiful....” Cas says in a breathy whisper.

Dean continues looking at Cas, the way his eyes reflect the celestial light, his slight smile as he looks up in wonder. “Yeah, Cas. Beautiful.”

They sit there for a while, the silence of the night surrounding them, comfortable and safe.

Eventually Dean convinces Cas to move, and helps him stand. He slips under Cas’s arm, pulling it across his shoulder where he grips it tight, and supporting him around the waist with his other arm.

They’re walking along, Dean unsteady with Cas’ weight, when Cas stumbles. Dean hurries forward to catch him before he falls. “S’good. S’good, Dean, you’re so...so happy... now.” Cas’ arms grip loosely at Dean’s lapels, “Thass all I wanned. You…” He jabs a finger to Dean’s chest, “you desssserve to be happy, Dean.” He suddenly looks at his finger, before pressing it to Dean’s nose, “Boop!”

Then he dissolves in a fit of giggles again, leaning his head on Dean’s shoulder

Dean feels a shiver run down his spine at Cas’ words. “You deserve to be happy too, Cas.” He says quietly, leaning his cheek on Cas’ head.

Cas looks into Dean’s eyes, the blue of his own clouded by alcohol, “Yesss. I will... be. Wen we reach Los...Lozenges.” He cocks his head, a line of confusion appearing as he squints, “Los..Los..LA. Wen we reach LA. You’ll be happy. An’ so, I’ll be happy too.”

He breaks away from Dean’s loose hold, stumbling forward, “An’ they lived happpily ever after.” He sing songs.

“Cas…” Dean whispers, a feeling of foreboding beginning in the pit of his stomach. He moves to Cas’ side, holding an arm to steady him again.

Cas brushes his hand off, “I’ll come to see you, Dean. You’re my fren’ right? Right! An’.... an I’ll always….alwaaaaays come when you call, Dean. Will you… will you come if I call, Dean?” He peers into Dean’s face,  his eyes squinting as he tries to focus.

He suddenly rushes ahead and starts twirling around, his arms flung out at his sides, his face turned up to the sky, “DEAN! DEAAANNNNN! Dean….Dean” His voice peters down to a whisper, but he continues twirling, and Dean sees the tears slipping down the sides of his face.

It’s too much, and Dean can’t control the sob that escapes him, to see Cas in so much pain.

“Cas, I don’t… CAS!!”

He rushes forward, catching Cas before he falls. Cas mutters, his voice muffles by Dean’s shoulder, “But can I tell you somethin’?”

“Sure, Cas,” Dean can only whisper.

Cas head brushes against Dean’s shoulder as he shakes it, “Nothin’.”

Then he passes out.

 

 

Castiel wakes up with a hangover from Hell. His head is pounding, and it feels like a hundred skunks died in his mouth. He feels his stomach heave, and rushes to the bathroom to pay his dues to the porcelain god.

As he leans his head against the cool tile of the bathtub, he is grateful for the hangover. At least now he has an excuse to look like shit. It would have been hard to explain when he… when they…

Dean knocks on the bathroom door, obviously alerted by Castiel’s retching. “Cas? You okay in there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, Dean. I’ll be out in a minute.”

He feels slightly better when he is showered and dressed for the day as he makes his way to the kitchenette.

Dean silently slides a mug of steaming coffee towards him.

“That smells heavenly.” And it does. Cas takes a deep breath to savour the aroma before taking a big gulp, and realises it is made perfectly. He looks at Dean quizzically, “You know how I like my coffee?”

Dean looks at him with an unreadable expression before shrugging, “Six months, Cas. I’ve learnt some things about you too, you know.”

Somehow, Cas doesn’t think Dean is talking about the coffee anymore. “Uh, about last night. I apologise for getting so intoxicated. I rarely drink strong liquor, I don’t know how I…” Suddenly a chilling thought halts his speech. “Did I...um… I hope I didn’t offend you in any way?”

“It’s okay, Cas. We all make questionable choices when we’re drunk. It’s not your fault.”

“Make questionable…? Dean! Oh god, I don’t even remember what I did last night. I hope… Please tell me I didn’t say anything I shouldn’t have?”

Dean looks at him for a long moment, his face carefully blank, before he smiles gently, “Nah. Nothing. You said _nothing_ , Cas. You wanna grab breakfast now, or along the way? We’ve got a short drive before we get to LA. If we start now, we should be there by noon.”

And just like that, Castiel crashes back to earth. Of course, Los Angeles. They're nearly there, that is why Dean is so excited. Otherwise he is sure Dean would have had a few choice words for whatever his inexcusable behaviour was last night.

He quashes down his melancholy, and attempts a bright smile, but he fears it may have come out as a grimace. “I’m fine with whatever you want to do.”

“Okay, straight to LA it is, then.”

The remaining three hour drive is mostly silent except for the music from Dean’s collection of cassette tapes. There is an awkwardness between them today that has been absent since the first few days after their marriage, and that confirms what Cas feared. He did do something yesterday. God he only hopes he didn’t proposition Dean or make any untoward advances. That would be mortifying.

As they enter the city limits, Dean asks, “Where are we going?”

Cas startles at the sudden sound, “Huh?”

“Address, Cas. Where are we going?”

“Oh. Um… Waldorf Astoria, Beverly Hills.”

“Wow, Cas, you sure know how to show a girl a good time!” Dean winks at Cas as he passes his phone, “Here, can you bring that up on the GPS, please?”

“Sure.” Cas takes the phone from him, his eyes widening at the screen. The message app is open on a contact. The last message was sent this morning before they left the motel, with their expected arrival time. The contact says “Benny”.

Castiel hastily swipes the button to bring up the home screen, and does as instructed, before placing the phone back on the centre console.

He takes a deep breath. Now or Never. He clears his throat to dislodge the lump that is lodged there, “Uhm… Is it… Pergatia wanted a meeting with us, so since we’ll already be in Los Angeles, I told Mr. Lafitte we could meet this evening.”

“This evening?” Dean quirks an eyebrow at him, “I thought this was a vacation, Cas.”

“Uhm, Yes. Yes of course it is. I’m sorry, I should have checked with you, but I...uh...I wanted to finish the meeting before uh, before we started our...holiday. Is...is that okay? I can get Hannah to reschedule if you want?”

“Nah, you’re right. Let’s _finish it_ tonight.”

The way Dean emphasises the words sends a chill down Castiel’s spine. That, along with the message to Benny confirms his belief that what he plans to do is right.

 

  


	8. Eros: Erotic Love

_Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength_

_While loving someone deeply gives you courage._

_~Anonymous_

 

Dean feels a nervous excitement at the prospect of seeing Benny again. It’s been almost a year since Dean accepted the arranged marriage with Cas and Benny left, hurt and furious. Strangely enough, while he is looking forward to seeing him again, Dean is shocked to find that the thrill he once felt when thinking of Benny is missing.

Also, for some reason, Cas has been on edge since they left the motel this morning, and Dean has a pretty good suspicion why.

All through the drive this morning, he’s been doing some thinking. Sam being the source of Cas’ knowledge about his likes and dislikes came as a surprise. Could it be that Sam told Cas about Benny as well? Would he be that dumb? Because that would mean that whatever Cas had done on the road trip had an ulterior motive. Impress Dean.

After all, it was planned to perfection to suit _Dean’s_ taste. The Impala, the diner food, the music, hell, even the fucking open mic at the restaurant. Castiel was trying to _woo him_ . But then why bring him to Los Angeles? Why this “sudden” meeting with Benny? To confront Dean? No, he could have done that at any time. So what else then? Why try to get make an impression on Dean and then bring him _closer_ to temptation? If Cas really wanted to keep him, LA should be the last fucking place to bring him on their “honeymoon”.   

For a moment last night, when Cas was drunk as a skunk, he looked so vulnerable and sad that Dean’s heart had melted. Hell, all these months, Dean had been close to falling for the man. He had been sentimental enough to think...that he might even… But no.

No, Dean thinks, Cas has no idea what love is. Despite declaring he loves Dean, Cas has made no move to be close to him. If Cas did love him, he would never have been able to stay away from Dean all these weeks. He as much as admitted it himself. _Love is something that happens to other people_ , he had said. If he loves Dean even a fraction of how much Dean loves Cas, he would….. _What the fuck!_

That can’t be right, can it?

Maybe Cas wanted to prove that he was better for Dean than Benny. In fact, that might explain why they came here. Could it be that Castiel wants to gloat? With Dean having settled into Castiel’s home and his life, he thinks he won the prize, and now he wants to rub it in Benny’s face. _Right?_

His emotions keep swinging between breaking down and telling Cas how he feels, and doubting Cas’ intention in bringing him here.

Dressing for the evening, he forgoes the suit and tie, choosing instead to dress in a light Henley and dark wash jeans, paired with with a beige blazer. After all, Cas did say they are meeting in the Rooftop Bar in the hotel.

He walks out to the lounge area of the suite, adjusting his collar. “Cas? I’m ready.”

Cas is sitting on the plush sofa, typing on his phone, but looks up when he hears Dean. For what feels like minutes, but is probably only seconds, they just stare at each other. When he stands, Dean sees that Cas is dressed even more casually than him, in basic blue jeans and a blue plaid shirt.

Dean frowns, “Why aren’t you dressed yet? We’ll be late.”

Cas taps his phone against his palm, before nodding once, as if coming to a decision. “Dean. It’s fine. Please, have a seat, there’s something I have to tell you.”

He looks so solemn that Dean knows this is it. This is where Cas tells him he knows.

Cas mistakes his hesitation for impatience, “It...it won’t take long, just a few minutes, please.” His voice cracks on the last word, a hint of emotion peeking through.

Well, might as well grab the bull by the horns, Dean thinks. He sits down on the opposite sofa.

When he’s seated, Cas looks at him, biting his lower lip, a sure sign that whatever he’s about to say, he’s nervous about it.

“Dean, I… I’m not going.”

“What the hell do you mean, we aren’t going?”

Cas takes a deep shuddering breath, “I _know_ , Dean. About Benny. This is not an official meeting with Pergatia, it’s a meeting with Benny, specifically.”

With that, Cas pretty much confirms all of Dean’s suspicions. He scoffs, looking away from Cas.

“Please, hear me out.” Cas pleads. “And... _we_ aren’t going, _you_ are.” He points to a file on the coffee table, “These are the annulment papers. I’ve already signed them. You can sign them immediately if you want. You have my personal guarantee that it will not affect the deal with your company. But, if you still find it difficult to trust me, you can wait to file the papers until after the deal is finalised, like you planned.”

Dean narrows his eyes, “Like _I_ planned?”

Cas nods, “I guess I broke my own rule about lying. I...inadvertently…. saw your correspondence with Benny.” Cas smiles sadly, “It would have helped if you hadn't named the file “Pergatia”. But well, the entire thing was printed before I realised what had happened. And I am, despite being told countless times to the contrary, only human. In any case, my flight back is in four hours. Don’t worry, the suite is booked for the entire two weeks. You can stay here.”

“But…” It’s only then that Dean notices the single flight bag next to Cas. “you’re serious!”

“I thought you lo...liked me! You even said it the first time we met! So tell me Cas! Were you lying then? Or are you lying now?” Dean ends up nearly shouting, “Tell me Cas, because either way, you’re STILL LYING!”

“I never lied to you, Dean. But love doesn’t mean possession. Love is about giving: time, freedom, space, happiness. It’s funny, you know. Besides my deception to get you here, I have never been anything other than truthful in my entire life. I truly cannot tolerate lies. Yet sadly, that’s what my own marriage has turned out to be. A big lie.” He shrugs, “I only wish… I wish you had believed me when I told you your saying no would not have any bearing on the contract.”

He gets up, preparing to leave, rolling his bag behind him.

Dean can’t believe it. He knows, he _should have known_ . Every time he has doubted Cas, his intentions, Cas has proven him wrong. He recalls clearly how small he felt when he confronted Cas about having an affair and it turned out he was out doing charity. And yet again, Dean chose to think the worst of him. _God, why does he never learn?_

“Cas! Wait.” Dean calls out, “You can’t… _I_ can’t…”

Cas stops, but doesn’t turn around.

He lifts his hands to rub his face, his eyes stinging. The light from the overhead chandelier glints off the band on his finger. He stares it, then it strikes him.

He twists the ring around his finger, thinking, then calls to Cas, “Prove it.”

Cas turns around, frowning. “Pr..prove it?”

“If...if you really….I need to know that you mean it, that you’re letting me go.”

“Of..of course, Dean. Any..thing.” Dean notes the way his voice breaks, but doesn’t acknowledge it. He has to know how far Cas is willing to go. How far Cas is willing let _Dean_ go.

“Give me your ring.”

Cas’ eyes widen in shock, “R..ring?”

“You wedding ring, Cas. Take it off.”

“I...I…”, Cas bites his lip, staring down at his left hand. In the softest of voices he asks, “You want my ring?”

“Yeah. You’re not gonna need it anymore, are you? So c’mon, take it off, and give it to me.” Dean steels his voice and tries to make his eyes as hard as he can.

Cas worries at the simple band for a long time, an eternity. Dean can see him shaking, but eventually he nods decisively. He nearly rips the band off his finger, and without looking at Dean holds it out to him.

Very slowly, Dean plucks it from his fingers, looks at it lying small and gleaming in his palm, and then decisively puts it in his pocket.

Cas rubs absently at the empty spot on his finger, where a slight indentation marks the glaring absence of his ring, then clenches his hand into a fist and shoves it in his pocket. “Okay. Al..alright. I..I’ll just..yeah.”

He picks up his flight bag and turns to leave.

He looks at Dean over his shoulder, trying to hide the glittering of tears in his eyes, “Goodbye, Dean. I wish you all the happiness in the world. You _are_ worth it.”

And with that, he walks out of the room.

Dean stands there, uncomprehending. What just happened? What the _fuck_ just happened?

With leaden feet he makes himself walk out of the room and up to the Rooftop Bar. He spots Benny seated at a corner table, looking contemplative. He stops short, taking a moment to stare at the man he once loved. Benny looks up suddenly, his eyes darting behind Dean for a moment. His mouth scrunches in confusion when he sees that Dean is alone, then his entire face transforms with joy. He scrambles to get up and rush to him, and Dean meets him halfway.

Benny draws Dean into a bear hug, completely engulfing him, “You’re here, Cher. I can’t believe it! You’re here!”

He draws back, his large hands coming up to frame Dean’s face, but when he bends down to place a kiss on his lips, Dean pulls back instinctively.

Benny’s smile falls, confusion replacing the joy in his eyes, “Cher?”

“Benny, I…” Tears threaten to spill from Dean’s eyes, but he swallows them back.

“Dean? What is it? You look sad, Cher.”

Dean shakes his head, unable to meet his eyes. He’s not sad. Well, not because of Benny, at least.

Benny places a hand on Dean’s chin, nudging him to look up “Dean, look at me.”

Benny looks into his eyes, and Dean waits for the thrill that used to accompany it, but there’s nothing. Now all he can think is, _it’s not the right shade of blue_. Benny withdraws his hand hesitantly, “Something’s different about you. What’s changed Dean. You’re looking at me differently.”

“It’s….it’s not you Benny. I just…”

“Cher, don’t you love me anymore? Is that it?”

“No! No, Benny I do. God, you’re the first person I loved! The one who taught me to feel love, you know. And I was ready to throw away everything I knew for that love, for _you_ . I swear. I had it all planned out too. But Benny, in these last six months? I learnt _what love means_ . What it means to love _someone_ . From _Cas_. And I can’t…”

“Castiel? What...what are you saying, Cher? I thought you were leaving him. Coming back to me.”

“I was. I wanted to. But then Cas found out about us.”

“What?! Did he hurt you?” Benny face darkens threateningly.

Dean can’t help but laugh bitterly, “No, Benny! You wanna know what he did when he found out? He brought me here, to _you_ . Then he signed the annulment papers and left. Because for him, love means giving me whatever makes _me_ happy.”

“I don’t understand… isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yeah” Dean scoffs, “I thought so too. But when I saw him walking out… Benny, Cas gave up his own happiness..his own dreams, _for me_. For something that wasn’t even his fault to begin with!”

“But you said…”

“I know what I said. That’s what I believed. What I chose to believe. Even though Cas told me that my saying yes or no would not affect the deal. I chose not to trust him then, and I’ve hurt us all. You, me… but, most of all, him. And now I don’t know what to do.”

Benny looks at him, his kind eyes searching, assessing. He reaches out a hand to cup Dean’s jaw gently. “Can I say something, Dean? As a friend?” Benny brushes a thumb across his cheek, “Everytime you say his name, your lips pull up in a smile, even through your tears. I think”, he looks down for a moment, hiding the tears in his eyes, “I think you are in love with him, Dean.”

“No, Benny, that can’t be true. I love you.”

“Of course you do, Cher. I love you too. But you are _in love_ with Castiel, not me.” He shakes his head sadly.

Dean stands there stunned. Could it be? He thinks back over their time together and it’s like every scene plays in slow motion in front of his eyes. Cas being gentle and kind when Dean was hurting. Cas smiling and laughing as they learnt to be friends. Castiel becoming _Cas_ . That special gummy smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. The heat of passion and naked want in his eyes that night, his low voice growling “I want _all_ of you, Dean.” Fuck, how had Dean allowed himself to think Castiel didn’t love him, didn’t want him. The pain in his expression last night, when he called out Dean’s name to the heavens, the echoes of which still ring in Dean’s ears. Of the broken look in Cas’ eyes when he took off his ring. Of Cas’ final goodbye as he left.

The weight of the memories forces him to fall into the nearest chair. Dean hangs his head. He loves Cas. He’s in love with Castiel Novak. And now he’s ruined everything. When he looks up, his heartbreak spills from his eyes, “I don’t know what to do.” He whispers, a broken sob escaping his lips.

Benny smiles, as kindly as always, “Do what he did, Cher. Give him what will make him happiest.”

 

 

The car deposits Cas back at his townhouse just as the dawn light is peeking its way up the horizon. Feeling rumpled inside and out, he trudges through his front door. His entire being feels like it has been put through an emotional wringer, the pain of losing Dean consuming his every thought. He realises now that the “inner peace” he had felt when making the choice to let Dean go had lasted only until Dean’s bright presence graced his existence. Once that brilliance has actually gone, there is no peace, no contentment. Just excruciating pain, a hollow emptiness where Dean’s warmth had made a home.

Moving on autopilot, he leaves his small flight bag near the staircase and goes upstairs, instinctively heading for the second floor room that has been his bedroom for the past few months. He wants nothing more than to face plank onto the nearest available surface, preferably never to move again, but his eyes feel gritty from the lack of sleep and sting of tears. Dropping his keys onto his bedside table, he goes into the bathroom to take a leak and wash up.

It is only after he splashes his face and neck with hot water, running a wet hand through the plane-frizz of his hair that he is awake enough to notice that  something is different about the bathroom. Something is missing. More to the point, _everything_ is missing! The counter, which was stocked with his usual array of toiletries, is completely bare. He frowns at the empty space for a second, then flings the shower screen to look inside. Again, nothing. Not his shampoo, or  conditioner. No body wash. His eyes flick to the top shelf of the shower holder where he keeps his secret stash of Astroglide (for showering purposes) and his eyes go wide as he realises that is missing too.

Where _is_ all his stuff? Has he been robbed? If so, this is the most orderly break-in in the history of break-ins. Feeling decidedly confused, he goes out to the bedroom and throws open the double doors of the wardrobe. If his life were a cartoon, this would be the point where a fly would buzz past his head to demonstrate its state of emptiness. Because this is real life, however, all he sees is empty shelves and emptier hangers. Frantic, he opens the column of drawers that hold his underwear and socks (empty) as well as his shoe shelf (emptier). Rush to the bedside drawers, and there’s no sign of his spare charger and other detritus that tends to collect there. More embarrassingly, there’s no sign of the generous sized bottle of lube, or the box of condoms (not that great of a loss, that one, they could very well be expired for how long they’ve been stashed there, unused.)

He slumps down at the foot of the bed, flabbergasted. _What the hell?_ This smacks of a Gabe-level prank, but he hopes even his trickster of a brother wouldn't pull something like this. Not at a time when he knows Cas….

He tilts his head up towards the ceiling. _Footsteps_?

There’s someone in the upstairs...well, his again now, he supposes, bedroom. Perhaps Gabe thought he was being a good brother by helping Cas move back to his old bedroom.

He runs up the stairs and flings the door open, shouting, “Gabe!”

And stops short in the doorway.

A very familiar figure is lounging on the bed, leaning against the headboard, grinning broadly. “Hey Cas!”

Castiel blinks stupidly. Surely he’s still on the plane, asleep and dreaming. Very surreptitiously, he pinches himself, and _Ouch!_ Nope. He’s awake. This is real. _This is real!_

“De...Dean?!” He squeaks, clears his throat and tries again. “Uhm...Dean.”

Dean swings his legs off the bed, staring into Cas’ wide eyes, “That’s my name, yes.”

Castiel nearly rushes into the room to hug Dean. To cling to him and never let him go. It turns into a stumble as he catches himself. He edges further into the bedroom, shuffling, “Uh, yes, well.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, “You need something?” he asks casual as you please, as if he isn’t turning Cas’ world upside down.

“Huh?”

“Why’re you here, Cas?” Dean looks around the room.

 _What?_ “Why am _I_ here?!” Cas gapes, “Uh...um. Clothes...mine...I mean...my clothes...and oth...other stuff...uh”

Dean lazily walks over to the closet and turns on the light inside, turning back to Cas and beckoning him over with a finger, “Ah. You mean, these clothes?” He points his head inside.

Cas hesitantly walks over, “Wh...I..I didn’t…”, he shakes his head.

“Oh, I know. _I_ did.” Dean switches off the light and placing one hand on Castiel’s shoulder guides him back out of the closet and gently pushes him to sit on the bed.

“Wh..what?” Castiel is sure he used to be an eloquent speaker, once.

Dean drops to his knees on the floor in front of Castiel, “You see,” he says softly, staring into Cas’ eyes, “my dad didn’t give me a choice when he decided I should marry you. Look how that turned out.”

“I…”

Dean holds up a finger. “ _You_ , Castiel, didn’t give me choice when _you_ decided to let me go.”

Cas hangs his head in shame. He never realised how Dean would see this, he was so wrapped up in his righteousness. “I thought I was doing the right thing.” He whispers.

“Hmmm. Maybe”, Dean purses his lips, “But now, I want it to be _my_ decision. So, here’s how this is gonna go.” He holds up his left hand, palm flat, and places his right fist on it, “You win, I go back to LA, like you wanted. I win, I decide what I do.”

Cas looks up into Dean’s eyes. Going to LA was what _Dean_ wanted, wasn’t it? Dean’s making it sound otherwise. A spark of hope splutters to life in the dark space that has been empty since he left Dean yesterday. “O..okay”, he says, holding out his hands in readiness.

Shake. Shake. Shake.

Cas throws Paper, knowing he’s going to lose. Knowing that means Dean won’t leave.

And looks at Dean’s hand. Rock.

Horror pales his face and he can’t stop himself, “NO!” He looks from Dean’s closed fist to his eyes, shaking his head in denial, “No! Sam said…” and clamps his mouth shut.

He’s won the throw. And he’s _lost everything_.

But Dean is grinning. “Sam?” He raises an eyebrow. “What did Sam say?”

Cas looks down at his hand still spread in _Paper_ , shakes his head, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.

Dean places his other hand under Cas’ chin and lifts his head to meet his eyes, very softly, he asks again, “What did Sam say, Cas?”

“He said... _deanalwaysthrowsscissors_ ”, he says in a rushed mutter.

Still looking into Cas’s eyes, Dean slowly raises his fist to his eye level. Then very slowly, he opens the index and middle finger into scissors. On each of the two fingers, a wedding ring glints where it is wedged on the first knuckle.

Cas stares comically, his eyes widening from the rings to Dean and back, and Dean whispers, “Scissors.”

“Dean!” Cas says, awed.

“I win, Cas.” He declares simply. “And I wanna stay. With you. Can I?”

Cas falls into Dean, wrapping his arms around his neck, “YES!! Yes. Yes, of course yes.” Because this is Dean, and he came back. Came home. To Cas.

He draws back, looking at Dean, so close for the first time. At the green of his eyes that has haunted his dreams since he first learnt to dream. He unconsciously licks his lips, and watches as Dean’s eyes follow the movement. He looks at Dean, and his slight nod is all Cas needs. It breaks through the tight hold on his self control. Knowing that he has permission. That he can. He presses his lips to Dean’s, desperate, pleading, longing.

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until Dean pulls back, gently cupping his face, and wipes his thumbs across his cheeks.

“You’re an idiot!” he says, gently taking Cas’ left hand from around his neck.

He places his index finger against Cas’ ring finger, and shakes the ring lodged there. It slips loose, sliding from Dean’s finger on to Cas’.

All Cas can do, as he stares at his wedding ring, is agree, “Yes.”

Cas feels his heart beat faster, thundering. He takes Dean’s hand and raises it to his lips. He kisses the open palm, then slips Dean’s wedding band off his other finger. He holds out his hand for Dean’s. Still staring into his eyes, Dean lifts his left hand, and Cas gently places the ring back into its rightful place. Where it has a direct connection to his heart. “I thought... I loved you when we were at Harvard, that I could never love anyone more. But I was wrong. These past two months...Dean, what I felt for you then is _nothing…_ nothing compared to what I feel for you now. What I feel for you after _knowing_ you, knowing the man you _are_. Dean Winchester, I love you.”

As Dean adjusts the ring around his finger, he whispers, “I was so sure I knew what love was. That it was butterflies in the stomach. The inability to keep your hands off the person you love. Passion. Desire. And because you’ve never... I thought you didn’t… that you didn’t love me. I was so _wrong_ , Cas. I didn’t realise that you _have_ shown me, every day since we met, that you love me. Every time you put me before you, every time you… God, Cas! You’re amazing, and kind, and generous, and sometimes I think you’re too good to be true. _How?_ How can someone as wonderful as you love an asshole like me? How can... ”

 

  

Cas crashes into Dean, halting his self-doubt. How can this man have such a low opinion of himself? Cas will just have to show him, make him see himself the way Cas sees him. He will be Dean’s eyes, his mirror into his soul.

Dean’s lips feel like coming home, like Cas’ every fantasy come to life, only better. They’re soft, warm against his own. Involuntarily, Cas groans, and Dean takes the opportunity to tease his tongue in, hot and seeking. He slides his hands into Cas’ hair, moving his head to get a better angle. Deeper. Cas’ hand tightens on Dean’s collar, pulling him closer, yet not close enough.

They kiss and kiss, until they break with a gasp for air.

“You... _Dean_ , you have no idea,” All the longing, the want Cas has buried deep within himself bubbles to the surface as he rests his forehead against Dean’s, “how much I’ve had to control myself.” Cas keeps nipping at Dean’s lips, not wanting to give up the taste entirely. “I want you, Dean, in every way imaginable.” His hands shake with desire as he moves to straddle Dean’s lap, “The things I’ve imagined doing...to you... _with_ you.” He feels Dean grip his hips, drawing him closer, crushing their groins together, and the sweet, relieving friction causes him to moan involuntarily. Cas bites his lip, savoring the feeling as he rolls his hips into Dean’s, wanting him to see, to _feel_ , what Dean does to him.

He’s already half-hard, just from kissing Dean, from being so close to him. He’s flying, he’s falling, he’s addicted, and if this is how he feels after a few kisses, how will he feel after days, weeks, months, years of kissing Dean?

A delicious shudder runs through his body as he realises he’ll have the chance to find out.

“Dean... _Dean!_ ” He gasps, “I want… I need…” He nuzzles at Dean’s collar, burying his nose in the arousing scent of his cologne, familiar and tantalising.

“Yeah…” Dean growls, his hands moving to Cas’ chest, undoing the buttons of his shirt, “Yes! Cas...me too. I need to...to see you,” he slips his hands inside the half-undone shirt, impatient, frantic, “touch you... taste” his lips latch onto Cas’ collarbone.

Castiel feels a thrill as Dean’s mouth sucks blood to the surface, knowing there will be a mark there later, that declares to the world that he is Dean’s. That Dean has found him worthy of this. Worthy of _him_.

Then it becomes an incoherent jumble of hands clutching, gripping, sliding, caressing. Of mouths, teasing, nipping, licking, sucking, panting. Buttons rip, shirts get flung off in impatience, and suddenly Dean is scrambling at Cas’ belt, a string of muttered _C’mon, c’mon!_ and then a groaned _Cas!_ as Cas continues licking at his jaw, his throat.  His thumbs find an excellently sensitive spot at Dean’s nipples. He mercilessly teases them between his thumb and forefinger before latching onto one with his lips. Dean loses the battle with the belt buckle as he arches his back in pleasure, his hands clutch at Cas’ hair holding him there. Dean moans and Cas can’t resist raising his eyes to Dean’s face. A delicious flush highlights the freckles that Cas has admired so, and his lips, red and plumped from their kisses, the lower lip pale at the corner where Dean is biting it.

Cas has a sudden desire to see all of Dean, spread out beneath him. He can feel Dean’s hardness against himself and he needs to see, to touch, to _taste_. He reluctantly  moves off Dean’s lap and Dean makes a sound of protest, but Cas’ nudges Dean up, “Bed. On the bed.” He pants, and Dean scrambles to comply. He turns around and climbs onto the bed, giving Cas an excellent view of his jean-clad ass. Cas reaches out to stop Dean from moving further up the bed, flipping him around on his back. Dean’s eyes go wide at the show of strength as Cas growls, “Pants. Pants, need them off. Need to see you.” He almost rips the belt off before undoing the buttons on the jeans, looking up for permission.

“Fuck, yeah.” Dean groans, voice wrecked, and Cas slides the jeans and underwear off at the same time. His eyes devour the sight before him, Dean flushed face to chest, his knees bent, legs hanging off the edge. His cock hard and rigid, a bead of precome pearls at the tip under Cas’ scrutiny, and Cas bends to lick it off before it can fall. The sharp tang spreads across his tongue, his senses alight at the first taste of Dean in his mouth. Once he’s there, he can’t let go, doesn’t want to let go. He closes his lips around the head, sucking, as he falls to his knees between Dean’s legs. His palms spread across Dean’s thighs, thumbs caressing the coarse hair there, he drops his mouth lower, taking in more of Dean’s considerable length. He’s never actually done this before, so he’s going mostly by instinct, and hoping to hell imagination counts for experience.

Dean pushes up on his elbows, watching him, his eyes blown dark and wide. “Dude,” he pants, “how the fuck are you so good at that?”

Cas increases his efforts, Dean is much too coherent and that just won’t do. He drops his mouth further, expecting to gag, and is pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t. He doesn’t seem to have a gag reflex, and what a wonderful way to find out. Chalk one up for genetics!

Dean drops his head back with a moan as Cas tongues at his frenulum, and emboldened by the recent anatomical discovery, Cas hollows his cheeks and goes for gold. Dean’s cock hits the back of his throat and he swallows in reflex. That earns him the incoherent babbling of his fantasies as Dean shudders, moving his legs to rest on Cas’ shoulders and gripping tight, “Cas!... OH FUCK! I’m… Shit, Cas!” His entire body tenses up as he comes down Cas’ throat, and Cas takes it all in, greedy. His grip tightens on Dean’s thighs as he feels the warm wetness spread in his own shorts in response, hearing Dean call out his name as he comes enough to wrench his own orgasm. Dean goes limp in the aftermath, his legs splaying open as their grip on Cas’ shoulders loosens.

Cas comes off Dean with an obscene pop, placing a chaste kiss to his softening cock, before resting his forehead on Dean’s hip, panting for breath. There’s a sweet ache in his jaw, and his knees start up a protest at the prolonged kneeling, so Cas drags himself up to flop down next to Dean, closing his eyes.

They lay there together in the silence, their breaths slowing as they both come down from their orgasms. He hears Dean chuckle and rolls his head towards him, “What?”

“Fuck, babe! That is so not how I imagined our first time.” Dean lifts his shoulders and kisses him hard, moaning when he tastes himself on Cas’ tongue.

“You…” Cas asks between kisses, “you imagined...our...first time?”

“You bet I did. Fuck, have you seen you?” Dean rolls over onto his chest, his finger brushing Cas’ jaw, “With your sweaty running, and your fucking bendy yoga?”

Cas raises an eyebrow at him, “Some of us have to work for it.” he grumbles, moving his arms to hold Dean around the waist “not everyone can be effortlessly handsome like you.”

He watches as Dean flushes at the praise, and shifts to move them both to a more comfortable position up the bed. The change in position makes him aware of the uncomfortable situation in his underwear, and he looks down at the offending spot. Dean’s eyes follow his down, and he grins, incredulous. “Did you..fuck, Cas! That’s fucking hot!”

“Not right now, it’s not” he grimaces as he nudges Dean off him and unbuckles his jeans and removes them along with his spoiled underwear, which he uses to clean his cooling spunk. He throws both the items in the general direction of the bathroom then rolls to his side. Facing Dean, he rests on an elbow as he asks, “So how _did_ you imagine it, then?”

Dean frowns, “What?”

“Our first time. How did you imagine it?”

“It was a lot more me taking the lead, since someone was supposed to be an inexperienced virgin.” Dean points an accusing finger at him.

Cas finds himself blushing hot, “I’m sorry. You can do that, next time, if you prefer.”

“Nah, babe. I ain’t complainin’, here. I liked it.” Dean kisses him gently, “What about you?”

“Hmmm… while you have been the star in all of my fantasies for years now,” Cas scratches at his chin pretending to think, “I must admit that a  recent favourite prominently features pink panties….” Cas says as he leans in towards his husband, “You know you’re going to have to show me, right?”

Dean’s reply is lost into their kiss, as Cas captures his lips once more.

Cas _does_ get to see the pink panties. When they go on their _real_ honeymoon.

The panties don’t survive that battle, but are fondly remembered whenever Dean or Cas buy new ones.

 

  


	9. Epilogue

**10  years later**

 

The first time Daniel Winchester-Novak rebels, he is six years old.

He brings a stray kitten home, and his Papa says he can’t keep it, because his Dad has al-gies and will get sick if the cat stays. But the poor kitty needs his help, and it’s just not fair! He doesn’t want his Dad to get sick either, so he bundles her up in his favorite sweater and runs away.

He runs and he runs, all the way to the end of the world.

Or at least, to the end of his world, which happens to be his grampa Chuck’s cottage behind their big house. 

Grampa picks him up as he sniffs and sobs, and carries him into the house.

Daniel feels really bad about running away from his dads, but the poor kitty needs him more. After his grandfather helps him set out some milk for her, Daniel is busy playing with his little friend in Grampa’s study when he hears the front door open. Before long his Papa comes striding in, followed by his Dad. “Daniel Winchester-Novak!” Papa calls, and Daniel scurries to hide himself and his friend under Grampa’s desk, his lip quivering. 

Papa is here, and Papa is going to take his cat away, and then the poor thing will be so hungry and so sad. He peeks out from behind the desk and sees his Grampa come in behind his Papa. “Castiel. Dean. Sit down, for goodness’ sakes!’

“Dad! He ran away, Dad! Do you know how worried we’ve been?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” His Grampa sits down in his favourite armchair near the fireplace. He looks at Daniel and winks, “Come on out, son. I think your Papa needs to hear a little story. Do you want to hear a story, hmm?”

Refusing to look at his parents, Daniel nods. He likes Grampa’s stories. He crawls into his grandfather’s lap, his cat snuggled in his arms.

Grampa looks at Daniel and smiles through his bushy white beard, then he looks at his Papa and his Dad. Papa just rolls his eyes but he sits down on sofa. Dad still doesn’t look too happy, but Papa raises his eyebrow like he does sometimes when Daniel won’t eat his veggies, and Dad grumpily sits down too.

“Alright, then,” Grampa clears his throat. “Let me tell you about another little boy who ran away to save a cat….”

Chuck looks pointedly at his son, who has the good sense to look ashamed. His husband stealthily reaches out a hand and pulls him close, placing a loving kiss on his temple, where the hair is just beginning to be peppered with grey, before whispering, “We’re gonna need a lifetime supply of Claritin, aren’t we?”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how it happened. Sometimes, we fall in love and get married. But sometimes, we get married  then we fall in love.

 

Oh, and they  did live happily ever after, the two men, their son, and his cat. 

  
How’s  that for a fucking cliche?!!

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please do leave some comments, kudos and/or critiques. Like I said, I struggled with this fic and would love to hear from you about what you liked, hated, or thought was lacking.


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